I allowed the following words to tumble out of my mouth:
"I'm finding it really easy."
Like, who actually says at four weeks in to having a newborn AND a 2-year old that they're finding it easy, let alone really easy. Come on Jen, rookie error.
So this morning, mummy karma made it's way to Regent Street, and decided to drop a steaming pile of shite on me.
It all started when I was weighing up the pros and cons of going to Playgroup. In the back of my mind I knew today would be a challenge, but I told myself to man up and crack on anyway. I managed to get us all dressed and fed with little fuss, so then began the military operation of actually getting us out of the house:
- Brooke's coat and hat on
- Jesse fed and asleep
- Bag packed with nappies, wipes, spare trousers and undies for Brooke, snack & drink for Brooke, purse (with money in!), phone, keys, mussie, spare Sleepsuit for Jesse
- Buggy ready to go with rain cover
- Carrycot ready for Jesse to go in with hat and blanket
- My own coat, scarf, other general mummy crap slung in bag "just incase" etc
It's a bloody ball ache remembering it all, but thus far I've managed to get us out of the house pretty smoothly, so it was really only a matter of time before it beat me.
Brooke was ready to go and telling me so ("Mummy, GO!"), so I brought Jesse down to put him in the carrycot. He promptly woke for a feed which I quickly sat down to do. Literally as soon as he latched on and got comfy, Brooke started tugging at her jeggings, shouting "Poo Mummy!" She already had her coat, hat and shoes on, so whilst simultaneously keeping Jesse latched on, I helped Brooke get her pants down, and manoeuvred her onto the potty. She did her business and managed to get herself off the potty without sending the nice pile of excrement onto the floor. About two seconds later she decided she needs to do "more poo Mummy!" So once again, trying to keep the boob-monster supping away, I tried to lower Brooke, knickers and trousers around her ankles, onto the pot. At this point, my small guy unlatches, sending a big shooting fountain of milk all over his face and across the room. His mussie was packed in my bag, so he got dabbed with a cold wet-wipe, which spiralled him into meltdown as not only was he no longer nestled into my warm boob, but he was now cold and wet and still hungry. He scrambled back on to eat and Brooke - now done with her poop - hobbled over to me so I could clean her up. I was literally arse-wiping and feeding simultaneously. Not my finest hour.
I finally got little man fed and into the carrycot and half an hour after trying to leave, we all made it out of the door.
Playgroup was rammed, and Jesse was still unsettled and wanted to feed again, so while Brooke ran around with her buddies, I managed to get him settled and off to sleep. It wasn't until the last 5 minutes of the session that I felt imminent chaos descend on me.
Brooke finds it impossible to sit down nicely and quietly like the other children, and insists on legging it back and forth around the room, while the other kids eat their snack and sing songs. I HATE her running and am constantly shouting, "STOP running!" She doesn't take a blind bit of notice of me and today, as a result, ran smack bang into another younger child. I was morto. I picked the little girl up and said sorry to her Mum. I asked Brooke to say sorry too, but would she? Would she bollocks. The little git refused, leaving me stood there like a tit saying over and over, "Say sorry." And she still didn't. Luckily the mum was fine about it but Brooke was not doing out Playgroup cred any favours.
Then it was time to go and typically she kicked off because she didn't want to go home, and she didn't want her little friend to go either. At this point I also noticed it had started to rain, and in the shit-fest that was trying to get out of the house, had I shoved the rain cover under the buggy? Three guesses.
Brooke, bang on cue, decided to throw the biggest and most spectacular toddler tantrum she has ever had, right outside the Playgroup. She point blank refused to get into the buggy. No amount of bribery (juice, chocolate, more chocolate), would get her in. She kicked, screamed, did that "I'm going to make all of my limbs nice and loose and wriggly just to piss you off" thing, that toddlers have down to a fine art. I could not reason with her for shit. She got to the stage where she wasn't even crying. She was hysterical to the point of high pitched screams and gasps of air. I'm surprised the girls running the group didn't come out to see why I was seemingly murdering my child.
All the while the rain is hammering down, and I wanted to sob. After several minutes, she calmed down and we had the lovely journey home to do. I got absolutely bastard soaked, whilst Brooke whined the whole way home.
This sums up my morning:
Soaked and pissed off.
Friday, we are no longer friends.