Kids & Parenting

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Real life parenting was a real shock for me because all the rules and regulations that I had prepared, swiftly went out of the window along with my slightly smug attitude.
I had sworn to my mother in my rebellious teenage years that I wouldn't be like her, that I would treat my child more fairly and wouldn't smother them but would give them the freedom they wanted.
Fast forward four years and at the age of nineteen, I had my first son and my first panic attack. The thought of being totally responsible for another human being terrified me and unlike other jobs where there is training provided, this very important job came with none.


As my son grew, I realized that all my ideas of parenting which I'd harbored as a teenager were nothing like the stark reality of being a real parent. I had planned to feed my child only home made, organic food. What was I thinking? I barely had enough time to heat up a tin of Heinz baby food let alone cook a variety of meals. I wanted to dress my child in only the best clothing. What a joke. I soon realized that it wasn't about dressing him in the best clothing. It was about putting him in the best stain resistant clothing. I had decided that any child of mine could be trained to sleep the whole night and that I wouldn't pander to his every cry. I was as wrong as I could possibly be. I couldn't get him to sleep for an hour let alone the night and every time he let out a whimper I picked him up for a cuddle thus ensuring a rod for my own back.

When my son was a toddler, I fell pregnant again and when my daughter was born, then the fun really began. I spent their early years in a sleep deprived haze sporting hair and clothes that wouldn't look out of place on a scarecrow. I was full of admiration for mothers who managed to appear immaculate and could only deduce that they either had nannies or extremely perfect children. I became quite desperate at times, wondering why I ever thought I could be a good parent when it seemed patently obvious that I was winging it.
Things began to fall into place a little as they grew older and I managed to grab more sleep and more me time but then I did something incredibly stupid. I fell pregnant again. My son was ten and my daughter eight and a half. They were thrilled at the prospect of a new brother or sister. I was envisioning that part in the middle of the night when you're trying to placate a crying baby and you think that everyone in the entire world is asleep apart from you. Well, it always seemed that way.

So, my third child, another son was born and I started the whole thing all over again. I had learned some things from having two babies though and that was to always place a towel over my shoulder when burping them and always, always stand at arms length when changing their nappies, especially with boys.
As they grew and moved into their teenage years, I acquired my first grey hair and a permanent eye twitch. I also recognized something alarming about myself. I was turning into my mother. Every time, they went out with friends, I found myself saying exactly the same words she always told me. I also sat on the sofa staring at the clock when they were late exactly as my mother used to do and when they finally traipsed in two hours late, I adopted exactly the same look on my face and exactly the same tone of voice. My children responded in exactly the same way as I had and when they sulkily and noisily stomped upstairs to bed I allowed myself a small smile, safe in the knowledge that one day when they have children of their own, revenge will be very, very sweet.

Now, my two eldest are adults and my youngest is twelve and I've realized that there is no manual or book that can prepare you for parenthood and that any ideals about parenting you may have will almost certainly change, but two other things are also certain, and they are the immense love you feel for your children and the fact that despite any effort not to, you will always turn into your parents.

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