Parents of the world, I salute you!

As a woman in my (very, shhh) late twenties, I am sort-of-almost-getting-there ready to have kids… at some point… in the future… when I’m a bit more ready. This may not sound like the definition of ‘broodiness’ but it’s a frog leap forward from just a few years ago when I thought babies were mini shit'n'vomit machines that destroyed otherwise delightful lives. I held on to that view for probably longer than most, but like I said, I’m over it because I’d quite like a miniature me to mould in to a happier, stronger, more intelligent version of me. Me 2.0, if you will (we can debate whether this is an acceptable reason to have children another time). That said, I don’t have any nieces or nephews or very young cousins so it’s not like I have any experience of the thing that I sort-of-almost-don’t-fucking-rush-me  want. That was, until the weekend just passed, where I got to spend my weekend with, not one, but TWO toddlers! Yep, three year old twins to be precise. I was kind of excited. I was extremely naive.

Ring-a-Roses; Like Caveman Training, only harder

Upon arrival there was already much running, screaming and giggling from boy-twin and girl-twin as they zoomed between rooms like whippets on amphetamines, but they seemed to calm down when they realised there was a scary stranger in their midst. They peaked at me coyly and referred to me in hand-cupped whispers as “that lady”. It was pretty cute and I was pretty smitten.

A long walk to the pub, an evening meal and a trip to the park were planned to be adventure enough to tire the little whipper-snappers out before bedtime [hindsight lolz]. The meal itself was pretty impressive, I expected much throwing of food, screaming and refusing to sit still but there was none of that. They sat, they ate, they chatted. I’ve behaved worse at meals myself after a few glasses of adult grape juice, if I’m being totally honest. Post civilised feeding, we ventured on to the park where the twins were pushed round on things, swung up and down on things and then quite literally ran in circles for a good ten minutes. The journey home was expected to be a quiet one… [More hindsight lolz].

On the walk home I watched as my boyfriend picked up and swung round boy-twin and I felt a pang of nostalgia for when my Dad used to swing me around too. I wanted a go! Not being swung round, I’m in my (very, shhh) late twenties, for God’s sake. I wanted to be the swing. So I got involved with picking up, swinging round, throwing up in the air and, after a paltry 5 minutes, I was exhausted. The twins, however, did not share my exhaustion.

    -    “AGAIN! AGAIN!”
    -    “I can’t, boy-twin, I’m too tired, my arms are going to fall off.”
    -    “No.” [No further explanation, just “No” and an accusatory frown]
    -    “Yes, they are, look.” [Waves arms around as if somehow demonstrating tiredness through the medium of mime]
    -    “Noooo.” [Accusatory frown]

So I kept going until I was at much more serious risk of a dislocated shoulder. It was the frown that got me, on that bloody adorable face! Seriously, it was like what angels would look like if they wore Batman t-shirts. (I sure as hell hope my future kids are fuck-ugly so they can’t control me like that.)

Playing dead to get a few seconds rest

Once home, the demon seeds, I mean children, were still full of beans despite the adults all needing serious naps. When the time came for them to be put into their PJs they had to be caught and grappled in to a state of nudity in a scene that closely resembled a pig wrestling competition and made me genuinely nervous about ending up on a register! And once nude, the children thought it would be hilarious to curl up and contort themselves in to solid shapes like dead spiders (MADE OF IRON!) and refuse to be clothed. All the time giggling while farting like pros, gleefully filing the room with toxic tear-inducing gases as we wrestled them back in to clothes. Honestly, it was kind of hilarious, but the idea of doing that twice a day – Yikes.

When they finally went to sleep I was full of unaskably stupid questions. Like how come the human race had not died out? It’d been one day… barely a day, in fact! Half a day! …and I felt like I needed a week long retreat at a spa hotel. Am I just really, excessively precious?!? How have more parents not dropped dead of exhaustion, leaving their offspring to escape in to the wild and grow up feral? Is that how Peter Pan’s Lost Boys got lost? Are there parent training classes you can go to where you’re limits are tested, pushed and exceeded prior to being given a baby? Is it the cuteness that keeps you going when you’re running on empty? Or is there some inherent strength that comes from knowing that these are YOUR babies and if they want to be picked up and swung round, then by God, they will be picked up and swung round even if it means losing an actual arm?

My head is spinning with the mission impossible that seems to be everyday parenthood and I just wanted to write this post as a way to say to any parents out there: ‘High five!' Seriously, high five for all the nights you probably fall asleep with your face on a plate of food or pile of Lego. High five for all the days you keep going when all you want to do is lie down and smoke a joint. You guys are like marathon runners, but better, because you do it every day and you don’t shit yourselves in the street. (I presume). So high five parents, high five for keeping the species going… unlike those lazy bastard pandas.