ABCDs of raising my two kids

It’s been a while since I blogged (okay, nearly two years!!). This pretty much sums up life at the moment.


is for amber beads voodoo magic which I swore by with my firstborn for teething pain relief but suddenly saw it as a choking hazard with my second. Because I am  more paranoid wiser the second time around.


is for “because why?” which I get asked a gazillion times a day. And balloons. The endless fascination with plastic bags of air (and the drama when they pop or float away…)


is for Calpol and coffee always at the ready and Clearblue adverts that (still) keep popping up on my social media newsfeeds (?!).


is for doctors’ waiting rooms with unsmiling receptionists for more than an hour with feverish kids only to be told your kid ‘has a virus and needs plenty of fluids and if anything changes just bring them back’.


is for everything is similar yet so different with child number two *scratches head*.


is the word only mommies are allowed to say, FFS.


is for glue-like snot found stuck to unlikely places.


is for how many stains on my top can I get away with before I need to change my outfit (for the record, I used to have standards).


is for it looked a lot easier on Pinterest, FFS!


is for jumping jellyfish, your child-friendly alternative to F.


 is for kisses goodnight and speaking love over my children as they lie in bed while I feel guilty about all the times I was impatient and served them food that had been reheated more than once.


 is for the leisure (of not having to go to an office) and desperate loneliest loneliness of mat leave that you would never admit to anyone because you like to give the impression of winning at life and being capable of doing it all yourself.


is for my favourite mug with strong tea to set the world straight again.


is for newborns (other peoples’) that make your heart ache for that crazy time again in the most irrational way and that makes the husband break out in a cold sweat


is for obviously overthinking everything, like how your firstborn is an undiluted and intense version of you and what you did to get him like that and how much time you have to undo it and how you are going to undo it all but then again maybe he’s going to be okay and I’m not raising a self-entitled millennial after all?


is for planning playdates that can be cancelled the last second because kids are dicks variables in the social equation and the mental juggling and reshuffling of to dos and lists to reschedule.


is for quietly stalking through the house like a ninja while everyone else thunders through like a herd of rhino, leaving toys, coats and soppy cups in their wake.


is for ruining the lunchtime nap by driving in the car just long enough for the baby to drift off for one second only to wake up and forget she usually *needs* at least 1,5 hours while her mother regroups aka looks at social media.


is for showering alone for one minute before a tiny hand pushes the door open and posts you an orange hockey ball and plastic crocodile before sticking her entire mouth on the door and blowing raspberries at which point you skip exfoliation yet again and get out. 


is for terrible teething; the clingy sweaty grumpy not-eating moaning, not sleeping baby and hearing other parents say their kids ‘never had any issues with teeth’ and casually imagining dunking their heads in a bowl of yoghurt, the type with mushy bits. 


is for under eye bags that are all the rage this season.


is for viewing the world through the eyes of your kids and enjoying the adventure. 


is for ‘what do we say?’ and constantly asking, suggesting and prompting to be thanked in the hope that one day I will have polite and well mannered children (please?)


is for xylophones and toys that sing and dance and shake and give you migraines and epilepsy.


is for YouTube clips of kid-appropriate content, which can push the daily screen time allocation to way over acceptable levels BUT buy you sanity (cue: angel choir) and works a treat when potty training. 


is for (the next-level skill of) zoning out while both kids cry at the same time and the dog is barking and the doorbell ringing and the kitchen appliances bleeping while you make dinner…


Now you know my abcs, next time won’t you sing with me?


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