And guilty.

And detached.

And that it’s not just the blogging either.

The one who missed her eldest daughter’s performance in the end of year Christmas concert and initially did not realise it.

The mother who then saw some footage with her baby girl anxiously scanning the crowd for her beloved mummy and daddy.

The mother who had to put on a bright smile and lie to her daughter, telling her that of course we were there, we were just up the back.

The mother who was running late because she was catching up with a long time friend who has just returned to Australia for the first time in two years and so didn’t carefully read the party program and brushed off her husband’s exhortations to hurry up.

The mother who that morning, had been so awful to her child because she was irritated by her innocent almost four year old Christmas enthusiasm because she was rushing around and worried about-get this-being late.

The mother who is sitting here, tears streaming down her face because under the “What makes you happy?” question in her beloved child’s portfolio the answer was “Mummy”.

I am pond scum.

A is my adorable angel thanks to her lovely current regime of sleeping from 8:30 pm to 8:30 am (!!). I’m fairly certain she is also undergoing a massive developmental leap, as now she is doing such blissful things as working out how to solve issues of frustration without screaming the place down in anger (“Mummy I can’t do x” “Just a tic and I’ll be with you sweetie” “It’s OK Mummy, I’ve worked it out“), using lovely big words like “ingredients” “aisle” and “tzatziki” in their correct context and with beautiful pronunciation, spelling out the letters of every word in sight, waiting patiently when the need arises and showering us with lots of lovely kisses and cuddles. More please.

E ‘s sleeping has improved along with her speech, gorgeous little crumpet. She is currently exhorting me to “Mummy, sit!” while patting the couch next to her so that is where I shall shortly go so that we can share cuddles and a story.

And one last thing. I have convinced myself that the test I had was merely an evaporation line and that my period was late due to an errant cyst. Let us never speak of it again.

Have a lovely weekend.

Me: Well why don’t you write a letter to Santa and ask him?  You never know, if you’re a good girl…

A (interrupting, a wicked glint in her eye): Noooo, I want to ask Santa Mummy.

Me (trying hard not to laugh):…..

A: And I want you to wear a hat and a curly beard too.

We have no hope. None.

* Surely I have mentioned that I am called by my first name more often than I am called Mum nowadays?  Fabulous when you are out in public, where I am certain everyone thinks that I am Daddy’s new ‘friend’, the evil cow admonishing the misbehaving preschooler with her mother nowhere in sight, poor little darling.

You will only laugh afterwards that said toddler actually managed to sit down and safely whizz down said slide with an exuberant “whee!” before you could reach her, visions of broken bones and worse rushing through your head.

You might be able to blog about the event two days later once you’ve uncurled yourself from the foetal position beneath the computer desk….

So what? You say. This little outing involves a mere hour and a half trip to get there and the same on the return leg, not including A’s maddening procrastination when it comes to getting up, dressed and out the door and in fact any transition in activity or E’s massive tantrums at being strapped into any device that may impede her ability to dash up and or off anywhere she pleases.

If it all goes well it will be very very good, but if it doesn’t…well at least I will have my mother with me.

PS For those of you who are suffering through the trial by fire that is parenting a threenager, go and read this extremely well written post and find out that you are not alone. Now. I’m counting. Do. not. let. me. get. to. three…

Um.

So I’ve been a whole lot of nutcase a little bit craazzy of late.  I’d blame the French, except they’re not the ones still waking me up for a feed once or twice a night now that they are in their own room. No names mentioned, miss E I’m looking straight at you.

Anyway, I guess the only way out of this funk is to accept the ongoing sleep deprivation, embrace the broken nights because they are showing no signs of abating anytime soon. Either that or sink lower into a tired misery punctuated by a fixation on all things meaningless while I let the meaningful moments slide.

Examples?  I have so wanted to come on here and tell you all about A’s amazingly elephantine memory and her ability to recall things from a year ago in perfect detail, snippets of conversations we have which show her burgeoning empathy and reasoning skills yet are still rather hilarious.  Especially her emphatic “I KNOW that” whenever she is called up on her behaviour, before proceeding to do what she wanted to do anyway.  Her secure satisfaction in knowing that she will always be my baby and that I love her to the moon and back.  My girl’s excitement and pride reserved for physie, and the thrill of counting down the days until this weekend’s concert, where she will be wearing her “proper real physie shoes and leotard mummy“.

Her obsession with the story of Cinderella, and her father’s delight at my ambivalence to this most decidedly non feminist tale.

And then there’s been E’s language explosion, from the adorable way in which she will plop down her weary head and say ‘nigh nigh‘ whenever she is tired, her pleading ‘uhh! uhh!‘ as she tries to scramble up my legs and into my awaiting arms and her most exuberant “dip! dip!” as she is presented with a bowl of food or tub of yogurt that she must feed herself, and by dog she does a great job with a spoon already.

The new tooth, the exceptionally hair raising climbing skills and mastery of riding a slippery dip at the grand old age of fourteen months. Her love of animals, as evidenced by her cheery “woo!woo!” greeting to the neighbour’s dogs when  we raise her bedroom blind in the morning, the constant searching for and pointing at “tweet! tweets!” as she climbs up onto the coffee table to gaze out at the birds in the bushland outside.

The squeals of delight as my girls play chaseys with each other all day long.

Mr hissychick’s landmark fortieth, and the horror/comedy of the day as detailed on his own blog, but excluding my sadness and embarrassment  at his poorly hidden displeasure with my first choice of watch for his birthday present.

Instead I have been mooching around, paying half hearted attention to the kids and the state of the house as I focus my priorities on stupid things like trying to get a nappy cream stain out of a couple of MCNs….at 11pm at night. Typing and then deleting comments on your blogs, fearing my words are just inane crap.

Worrying myself sick about the fact that I have to put in another extension of leave form at work, even though I knew it was never going to be realistic for me to return before the end of the year. Wondering how it will even be possible to juggle the commute and my absolute opposition to formal child care for my children before they are two years old but fearing that if I don’t return to work that I will entirely lose my own identity, self esteem and independence.

I won’t get started on the whole I really want a third child even though it defies all common sense and ongoing resentment at the fact that even if mr hissychick magically changed his mind it wouldn’t happen the au natural way anyway.

And let’s not mention how much time has been wasted of late in the agonising grip of guilt. Guilt that my own shitty mood is directly affecting my kids, my relationship with my husband, and is probably the major cause of climate change and the one thing that is holding everyone back from achieving world peace.

I am way too self involved.  So tell me, is the answer sleep, medication, sex, plucking my eyebrows? And what was the question anyway?

Gah.

I have lined your pockets with many dollars over the past three and a half years, initially because of the fact that the scary plasti-chemical combo you include in your nappies is the only one not to give my oldest daughter nappy rash.

So please tell me why my youngest daughter, who is not even eleven kilos, can no longer fit in your toddler size nappy, which is supposedly for little ‘uns between 10 and 15 kg in weight?

Surely your fine corporation isn’t minimising the size of your product in an attempt to quickly graduate children to the next size nappy, of which there are significantly less per packet and therefore more profits to be had.  Not the company that makes such warm and fuzzy soft focus commercials focusing on the fact that having a baby is all warmth and cuddles and giggles with nary a faeces filled nappy in sight.

As for my oldest daughter, she continues to require your alchemy in the form of Drynites big girl nappies that draw all wetness away, meaning that my daughter likes to lie in bed in the morning and wee before she gets up, therefore providing me with no clue as to whether she is night trained and no longer requires your at this stage $1.50 per nappy product night time ‘pants’ because as we know, dryness happens at their own pace, which of course has nothing to do with maximising your hold over my wallet for as long as possible.

Keep up the good work.

Regards,

mrs e. hissychick

***********

Darling E,

And hello and g’day to you too sweetheart. I am totally loving your language explosion at the moment. There is nothing more adorable than the way you wave ‘night ‘night when we put you to bed for a sleep.

What I’m not so keen on is the fact that you have decided that said sleep is to be avoided at all costs because you need to maximise your time practising your burgeoning language skills.  One am, 3:30 am and 5 am are not the most suitable of times to run through the names of all of your favourite people in the world.

And please cease and desist on that I will poo ten minutes after you have put me in the cot for a daytime nap trick and then you will have to get me up again or I won’t sleep and then I won’t sleep anyway or if i do it’ll only be for one and only one brief nap mwhahahahaha habit that you’ve had happening for, oh the last forever.

What was that? Oh you just grinned at me with your delightful now with added molar smile that lights up your whole face. You want a kiss, and to sing doo doo doo along with the Night Garden and na na na along wth the chicken dance?  Of course I give up, you can have anything you want. Once you climb down from the glass front buffet. Umm how did you get up there in the first place?

Much love

Mummy xxx

**********

My beloved A,

To answer your question: yes darling I still love you all the way to the moon and the stars and back even when you’ve been naughty. Why do I love you when you are naughty? Because you are my daughter. Why are you my daughter? Because you are made from special little bits of Mummy and Daddy. How did we make you? Oh look up there at the stars.

What are stars made of? How far away are the stars? How can we get there? Is a rocket ship the same as a car? How is the car that had a flat battery that we saw yesterday going? Wh-

Oh for the love of dog, please go to sleep. If you actually got some decent sleep we might see less of this blood pressure increasing defiance and meltdowns over trivial issues such as the fact that your sister dropped a piece of banana on your bedroom floorbe able to spend more time exploring things that interest you, such as counting to one hundred and learning about the engineering behind water supply and building construction.

Love always and forever (and yes forever is a long, long long time sweetie)

Mum mum xxxxx

PS YEs tomorrow is Saturday and yes that means movie night. And you’re right the day after that is Sunday and Daddy is still home from work because it’s the weekend. You’ve got it, that day after that is Monday and that means physie class. And then, that’s right, it’s Tuesday and- oh hang on, go to sleep. You’ve mastered the concept of a week but now it’s time for sleep.

PPS Mummy is very proud of the fact that you picked out a gorgeous black leotard and tutu from the usual pick and frilly options available. That’s my little individual, use your determination for good and not evil!

*************

Dear husband,

I will try to stop laughing at the fact that A refuses to call you Daddy, just like Bart does to Homer in the Simpsons. And the way that E likes to smack you in the head as a form of greeting.

No I won’t.

Smooches,

Wifey xxx

******************

Hello body of mine,

First of all I’d like to offer a  big well done to friend thyroid, who is continuing to behave herself in a manner most becoming to a normal butterfly shaped neck gland.

Iron stores, I have to issue you a formal warning.  You have sneakily slacked off,  plummeting to a silly low while I was simply thinking that I was just a bit tired. Take your daily supplement with good humour for the next three to six months and we’ll have another performance review then OK?

Finally blood pressure. I’m very, very disappointed in you. What the hell were you thinking, shooting up like that?  You’d better pull your socks up, because I am now required to keep an eye on you several times a day for the next month. Enough already of the vagueness and occasional dizzy spell, oh yeah, and potential for long term damage to my health. You nasty sneak, you can’t possibly want to go back to the drugs and endless testing we last had almost ten years ago.  Surely my having to remain calm, relax  and not sweat the small stuff blah blah hippy fishpaste is enough for you?

Signing off,

Head in charge.

I blame my own parents, who happily let me watch and learn the songs from Grease.

Would write more, but I’ve managed to hurt my freaking back. Sadly not from any post recycling business socks related activity, but from rescuing E from herself at mother’s group today. I swear the child already thinks that she’s three, so help me dog when she is actually a threenager.

Peace out.