Mummy's letter to the Corintheans
It’s that time of night when I’m lying in bed letting random shit run through my head - what I need to buy tomorrow to restock the fridge; how long I can leave it til I absolutely must wash my hair; how I’ve inadvertently smashed January.
If I'm honest, sleep is elusive tonight - Ju is away for work, so his place in the bed, as well as most of mine, is occupied by a snoring micro Humphrey, currently Bogart-ing the duvet. There are two studies that I would love to read: how something so small (your average child/toddler/baby/cat) can a) take up so much room and b) make so much noise. Oh, and why baby poo stains everything orange...
I’ve also just found the sweetest letter waiting for me in mini-me’s room - a little note that has made my heart happy. All is well in our house, yet I'm still awake, worrying.
Parenting is fucking hard. I’m doing my best and I’d like to think I’m doing ok. Sometimes I shout, sometimes I cry and sometimes I seriously consider boarding school. I’m perpetually tired, constantly worried and my heart breaks a hundred times a day. But then I remember I’m still pretty new to this and if we’re going to be fair, the girls aren’t experienced at being children so they have to accept some responsibility for how things are right?
🤣
A Catholic school education means I’m well acquainted with 1 Corinthians 13. I’m not going all Dot Branning here, you’ll probably recognise the “love is patient, love is kind” text anyway. It’s an aspirational prayer, at least for me. Here's how Mummy's letter to the Corinthians would have read:
In our house, love is patient, but if I have to ask you to put your school shoes on for a seventh time, mummy is likely to lose her shit.
Love is kind, but it’s only fair to warn you that I do own the propensity to be downright spiteful if you push me too far.
Love does not envy too much, although it may covet Christian Louboutin’s, it does not boast (unless it owns said Christian Louboutin’s in which case I'm roasting social media), it is not proud (but admit it, being able to walk/dance/run in 4” heels is an achievement.)
It is not rude but I do have a mouth like a sailor, it is not self-seeking but I will ask for attention if poorly. It is not easily angered on a good day, but on a bad day I will go from sleep to psycho in less time than it takes to walk down the stairs and it keeps no written record of wrongs but I’m like Gollum over my mental list - revenge my precious...
Love does not delight in evil unless it’s metered out to deserving enemies and those arsehole drivers who never say thank you when you give way: but rejoices with the truth - whether it’s a stolen biscuit (Bourbons most recently) or a goodly chunk of hair trimmed as close to the scalp as possible without actually scalping herself), it’s the lying that makes me cross, not the action itself.
It always protects - hurt my children at your own risk: always trusts (no one): always hopes (for a lie-in): always perseveres. Love never fails. Except when it does.
I’m only human after all.
By the way, whatever else love is, in our house it’s constant.
If I'm honest, sleep is elusive tonight - Ju is away for work, so his place in the bed, as well as most of mine, is occupied by a snoring micro Humphrey, currently Bogart-ing the duvet. There are two studies that I would love to read: how something so small (your average child/toddler/baby/cat) can a) take up so much room and b) make so much noise. Oh, and why baby poo stains everything orange...
I’ve also just found the sweetest letter waiting for me in mini-me’s room - a little note that has made my heart happy. All is well in our house, yet I'm still awake, worrying.
Parenting is fucking hard. I’m doing my best and I’d like to think I’m doing ok. Sometimes I shout, sometimes I cry and sometimes I seriously consider boarding school. I’m perpetually tired, constantly worried and my heart breaks a hundred times a day. But then I remember I’m still pretty new to this and if we’re going to be fair, the girls aren’t experienced at being children so they have to accept some responsibility for how things are right?
🤣
A Catholic school education means I’m well acquainted with 1 Corinthians 13. I’m not going all Dot Branning here, you’ll probably recognise the “love is patient, love is kind” text anyway. It’s an aspirational prayer, at least for me. Here's how Mummy's letter to the Corinthians would have read:
In our house, love is patient, but if I have to ask you to put your school shoes on for a seventh time, mummy is likely to lose her shit.
Love is kind, but it’s only fair to warn you that I do own the propensity to be downright spiteful if you push me too far.
Love does not envy too much, although it may covet Christian Louboutin’s, it does not boast (unless it owns said Christian Louboutin’s in which case I'm roasting social media), it is not proud (but admit it, being able to walk/dance/run in 4” heels is an achievement.)
It is not rude but I do have a mouth like a sailor, it is not self-seeking but I will ask for attention if poorly. It is not easily angered on a good day, but on a bad day I will go from sleep to psycho in less time than it takes to walk down the stairs and it keeps no written record of wrongs but I’m like Gollum over my mental list - revenge my precious...
Love does not delight in evil unless it’s metered out to deserving enemies and those arsehole drivers who never say thank you when you give way: but rejoices with the truth - whether it’s a stolen biscuit (Bourbons most recently) or a goodly chunk of hair trimmed as close to the scalp as possible without actually scalping herself), it’s the lying that makes me cross, not the action itself.
It always protects - hurt my children at your own risk: always trusts (no one): always hopes (for a lie-in): always perseveres. Love never fails. Except when it does.
I’m only human after all.
By the way, whatever else love is, in our house it’s constant.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thanks for ranting!