I have found so far, as a parent, that there are good days and bad days. Of course, it should all be sweetness, sunbeams and healthy snacks – but we all know that’s not the case. There are days when I am tired and grumpy, and days when TWM gets the worst of me, not the best which he deserves. I constantly feel guilt – guilt because I work, guilt because we can’t afford to live in a big house with a safe enclosed garden, guilt that we don’t seem able to give him a sibling, guilt that I don’t always have the patience to spend endless hours on the floor putting puzzles together and make-believing submarine stories over and over.
And then some days are good days. Days like today. My day off, the day it’s just me and him. This morning we went swimming (and he actually enjoyed it, rather than clinging on with a bruise-leaving pincer grip as if I might actually drop him in the liquid chlorine). This afternoon we baked. We talked, and laughed, and made a mess.
I know all of that is just a normal day for many wonder-mums. For me, though, it was a reminder that, just perhaps, I am not breaking him.