Im in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. And also secretly shovelling Haribo into my mouth by the handful.
The kids are in the lounge eating raisins and watching Ruff Ruff Tweet and Dave before we go up to run the bath for bedtime (a bedtime I’ve actually not been praying for since 11am today).
Suddenly I hear the most almighty scream from the lounge. It is so high pitched and full of pain that I just know someone’s lost a limb at least. Possibly two.
I abandon the kettle and rush to the aid of my children, one of whom is surely lying bleeding profusely with his arm hanging off judging by the noise.
“Are you ok?” I ask as I survey the scene and realise they’re both still sitting on the sofa with raisin-less bowls.
“I bited my tongue,” says the three year old forlornly.
He bit his tongue? I swallowed six Haribo whole and ran faster (albeit 2 metres) than Ive ever ran because he bit his tongue.
I give him a cuddle and indulge him a bit because, in his defence, it bloody well hurts when you bite your tongue. But whilst I’m cuddling him I’m rolling my eyes a bit and wondering why he’s so dramatic.
And then I realise.
It’s because I am.
The other day I stubbed my toe (which to be fair is up there amongst the most physically painful experiences I’ve ever endured along with paper cuts and child birth) and I had to take a moment to cry in the bathroom compose myself before carrying on with life.
And so whilst I bemoan the Big One for having the mood swings of a pre-menstrual fifteen year old girl or complain that the Little One is being a miserable sod because he’s tired, I should remember that they are only acting JUST LIKE ME.
I am hard bloody work. I am dramatic and I’m a cow when I’m tired. My moods swing more than the swings at the park on a very windy day.
But those same qualities which make me dramatic make me passionate. They make me determined and assertive. Those same traits which make me a cow when I’m tired mean I don’t really take any sh*t from anyone. Those same moods which seem to change as often as my toddler’s favourite foods (hourly) mean I experience emotion in such a heightened way that loving someone becomes part of who I am.
And I love my kids beyond anything I’ve ever felt. They are physically a part of me.
And they are emotionally a part of me.
I couldn’t be more proud.
They can scream as if a rabid wolf got in the house because they stubbed their toe if they want.
I know I do.
Because it really f*cking hurts.
Me stubbing my toe on the stairs: