I am typing this kicking myself for choosing a day where both husband and I are hungover to change our 2 year old into a 'big girls bed'. We put the bed up today and Miss Ruby was very excited- she had a fantastic afternoon kip in it and we smugly congratulated ourselves with how easy this was going to be.
Cue bedtime. My wheels are just about to fall off thanks to persistent nausea and a headache that not even McDonalds or a curry could shift. I suffered through Puss in Boots and Jack and the Beanstalk, counting the minutes to 7pm.
Bedtime = a total disaster. Tears, screaming, the works. The cot is already packed away in the garage- no going back now.
Miss R very quickly worked out that she can get out of said bed, and is currently crying for Daddy (the good cop) in her room and will probably fall asleep on the floor. I feel like the shittest parent on the planet right now.
Husband and I are both regretting being such smug overconfident idiots and for choosing to torture ourselves today. I'm actually surprised we are united on this front and haven't turned on eachother in our hungover states.
Yesterday was the our anniversary, so last night we went to see Tahuna Breaks at the Crystal Palace- it was a great night although we're paying for it dearly today.
Last night, I was chatting to another mum who said she doesn't actually "play" with her kids- and it was great to hear such frank honesty. Not to mention a relief- I am not very good at playing with Miss Ruby- I will sit down for ten minutes and get the playdough out, or help colour in a picture or read a story, but I am much better at doing things for her- cooking, laundry, buying things and more recently, making clothes.
It turns out that my husband isn't as thrilled with my new found sewing talent/ obsession as I am.
In fact, he said last night that he was "concerned" that I wasn't spending enough quality time with Miss Ruby and that sewing seemed to be taking up more of my time than he thought was healthy. He would prefer I waited until she was asleep to do it, as he doesn't like listening to me tell her to go and play by herself while making things. Apparently making things for Ruby doesn't make it OK.
Hmm. I'd like to say I responded rationally and maturely to this revelation, but I didn't.
I threw a pretty big tantrum thirty minutes before our babysitter arrived.
Admittedly most of it was guilt induced, although there was a fair bit of disbelief and bare rage thrown in also. Background: husband spends large chunks of time in our home office getting our new business off the ground. So I did think it was a bit rich coming from him. When he does have free time, he is very good at getting down and playing with Miss R, so I'm probably a bit jealous too.
So I'm not up for Mother of the Year. Our Plunket Nurse probably automatically disqualified me anyway the day she found out I had returned to work part time when Ruby was only four months old.
BUT thankfully I am not alone.
There are lots of bloggers and people out there who feel the same way as I do, and I love you all right now for making me feel normal. I try hard to be a good mum, but I just can't do it 24-7.
If I wasn't so ill, I'd raise a glass to the awesome sisterhood of crappy mothers who aren't afraid to share their warts and all stories.
And on that note, my toddler is still crying and screaming, and its my turn to tend to her.