A friend recently popped in to visit Molly and I with her two toddlers (2 & 3) and we set about trying to occupy them all in the garden with some painting. In a bid to avoid a meltdown and also ‘enjoy’ as much of a ‘peaceful’ cup of tea as possible, we resigned to giving up and just letting them paint on anything, including Molly’s playhouse, the stone tiles and themselves. Sure, what’s a little mess? I can always clean it up later, I thought.
Did you bounce out of bed today or hit the snooze button again? Cheryl asks why are we so tired these days, and where does that leave our yoga practice?
My husband was recently away on business and what did I do? I watched repeats of Come Dine With Me and went to bed with a good book at 8.30pm, praying that my toddler would sleep through the night. A little pathetic, some might say? It was brilliant! You see, lately I’ve been finding the hottest subject besides the weather is our level of tiredness. If I had a dollar for every time I told someone that I was T.I.R.E.D. then I’d be a pretty rich woman. (If you are nodding your head in agreement over your cappuccino, then please inbox me now.)
In a world of multi-tasking mayhem, mother and yoga instructor Cheryl Parsons asks, have we become too busy being busy?
I bumped into a friend in Starbucks recently and together we lamented over our endless chore list. “Yes, I am just sooooo busy these days,” I cried as we swapped ‘life is too hectic’ tales across our open laptops. Both of us were trying to squeeze in a flurry of emails before we powered down and headed to my yoga class. It was barely 8.15am, but we had already gotten ourselves tied up in a tizzy of ‘to dos.’
I am thinking of banning the “T” word. If I had a pound for every time I told someone that I was TIRED then I’d be quite a rich woman. (I’d be a ridiculously rich one if that pound also counted for every time I uttered the “T” word in my head.)
“Oh, yes, you will always be tired,” one of my students quite gleefully told me. “Welcome to parenthood. You will just get more tired from here on in,” the mother of four explained.
5.25am. No need for an alarm clock. The morning is signaled by the sound of a raspberry being blown from Molly’s cot. A shuffle of little legs inside her sleeping bag and a string of baby babble can be heard for the next half hour as she patiently waits for her bleary eyed parents. When the light comes on at 6am, the smile and accompanying squeaks of joy are enough to start to clear the cobwebs of tiredness away.
It has been a LONG time since I have updated my blog and boy, have things changed since my last post! Nearly six months on and I feel I am finally getting to grips with the role of being a mother. Molly is turning into a happy little lady, smiling, laughing, squealing. I won’t lie to you though, there have been many times I’ve really struggled with the challenge. I guess you are never quite prepared for how much your life turns upside down or how much your day to day existence will never just be about you anymore.
This week I’m trying to take a break from ‘google-ing’ parenting things. Well, actually I’ve been ordered to by the husband. To dream feed or not to dream feed, swaddling, breastfeeding, pacifiers, sleep windows, crying…I’ve driven myself mad trying to find the answers from a million and one www.possibilities.com. If you looked at my search history you would be forgiven for thinking I’d gone a little gaa gaa.
“THEY say you shouldn’t…” I begin before being quickly interrupted by the husband.
“Ah the infamous “THEY” again. Who the hell are “THEY” anyway?” he says.
He’s right. I worry that I worry too much, but this parenting caper is the hardest thing I’ve ever done! And don’t get me started on the books. Been there, read that…and ready to throw them out the window.
The day I sat down to write my last blog, four days passed my due date, turned out to be the day our baby would begin to arrive. That evening, Baby Parsons seemed to sense the husband was deeply entranced in the golf Open Championship and considerably waited until Ernie Els lifted the trophy before deciding to get things moving.
At 9.30pm we headed to bed for an early night, only for me to feel a strong sensation take hold in my lower belly the moment I lay down. I knew it was different from the twinges I had had over the last week and sensed that perhaps it could be showtime. As promised, so begins my personal tale of the birth of Molly Jean Parsons and my amazing, intense journey into motherhood.
‘More pineapple?” offers the husband as he hands me another cup of Raspberry Leaf tea. Breakfast in bed, always a treat. Except now I’m entering day four passed my due date and getting a little impatient for Baby Parsons to arrive. While last night’s spicy curry is still giving me heartburn, the little one seems pretty happy to stay curled up in his/her cosy nest. Perhaps all the yoga has chilled it out so much, they are no hurry to make an appearance!
Now, while I know the old due date should really be abolished in favour of the ‘arrival window,’ it is hard not to feel a little anxious once the day comes and goes. As irrational as I know it is, the mind still quietly probes: “Maybe they’ll never come out! Cheryl Parsons – the longest pregnancy in history.”
