Hi, I’m Jess and I want more sleep! In fact, I’ve always wanted more sleep and just as I got to an age where my weekend mornings were mine, as an adult – no more teen weekend job, no more “do you know what time it is?” from mum and with hedonistic nights/ghastly hangovers behind me – I went and threw small people into the mix and out the window went all my sweet, slumbering dreams.
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One of the themes that’s continued to arise over the last 8-10 years, both in my head and within my online community, is a diagnosis for all that Hugo is and does. I consider seeking a diagnosis when things are bad – when Hugo’s thrown the shit at the parental fan and I feel like I’m drowning in failure, it’s my flare for help. Then things settle down for a bit, a teacher/GP or CAHMS give you a look/letter of “I’m sure he’ll grow out of it”, so I lose my gusto and don’t want to rock the behavioural boat – until the next time!
But you know what they say, doing the same thing again and again expecting a different outcome is madness. So, for anyone with a spirited firecracker, who’s tick is ticking to a different tock, here’s where we’re at with a diagnosis, or – as I’ve come to prefer it – ‘description’. After all, a diagnosis tends to imply something’s wrong and it’s not that there’s something ‘wrong’ with Hugo, it’s just that he’s different to the ‘norm’.
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We all know the pressure I/we felt at Christmas; the overwhelming guilt of not having the tree up until the 13th of December, the burden of ensuring all the kids create magical memories to treasure for all eternity and the stress of conjuring up traditions for the boys to pass onto their sprogs in years to come. Valentine’s Day, on the other hand, is my time to shine! No pressure for memories, traditions or internal sparkling – just a whole lotta LOVE!
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I don’t know about you, but by the time the kids have bamboozled me with VPNs and V-Bucks, I feel a bit out of my parenting depth when it comes to keeping the kids safe online. But I’m pretty sure I’m not alone as a recent Net Mums survey found that nearly a third of parents let their kids use the internet without any restrictions. I’ll hold my hand-up to admit we’ve been guilty of that, leading to the “Sherril Coles boobies” search history discovery of 2015.
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I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.
One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts?
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