Losing your shit.

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When I had my son, my sister Mrs Ryan came to visit me in hospital. I recall her holding Horatio and telling me…

“This is both the best thing, and the worst thing you will ever do.”

This statement left me puzzled, and has done so for years. But gradually I began to see what she meant.

I recently read a blog post (which I am desperately trying to find so I can link to it)(here, found it – http://www.scarymommy.com/the-big-fat-fuck-you/) about a woman who completely lost her shit at her kids. As I read it, my reaction was one of empathy. I mean. no one likes losing their shit at their kids. I remember a handful of times when my oldies lost their shit at my behaviour, and looking back I can not blame them. I was a bit of a shit at times. I can see that my son Horatio has inherited some of my traits, mainly that of being particularly half assed when it comes to all facets of life.

Just this week, I went to school no less than 3 times in one day to deliver lunches, batteries and footy boots. Forgotten items. My friend Mrs Spark told me about her Monday morning, where her husband dropped their daughter at the train station to go to school. When said daughter got out of the car, she realised she was not wearing her school shoes, but her ugg boots. Early morning rushing and small fuck ups can lead to shit losing quite quickly.

Losing your shit when you have babies and small kids is tough. You can feel so alone. I recall placing my baby in the cot, calling my sister to come around, and spending a solid hour having a good old cry on the verandah. Happy days? Not so much.

There are a few times in my memory that stand out, where my behaviour matched those of a child. I can chuck my own sort of grown up tantrum from time to time. I am not a smacker. I don’t believe in hurting my kids, although I have been known to threaten it.

My two most memorable tantrums are as follows.

Driving my kids around, and they were punching the shit out of each other. My voice increased, my stress level smashed the top off the Richter scale and I stopped the car.

I got out, and plonked myself down on the kerb, and wept.

What? Yes, I am a weeper!

It was a dramatic yet effective way to silence the kids. No one likes to see their mother cry.

The other time was quite recent. I requested that a school bag was removed from the living room, and returned to said child’s bedroom. I requested it again a few minutes later. And then again.

I was standing in the kitchen when said child came in, holding his bag. We had a little chat before he took his leave. I turned around to return something to the fridge and tripped on something.

The school bag.

That was enough to unleash the beast from within. I swore out loud before I morphed onto David Beckham, and fair kicked that motherfucking bag straight back into the living room, where it landed and exploded in a cloud of handballs, pencils, notes and an apple core.

Removing myself quickly, I went and had my howl in the laundry, and noticed that the school bag was quickly and silently gathered up, and was removed.

Please get changed.

Please don’t piss on the toilet seat.

Can you get me your lunchbox?

Where is your homework?

Please put your yoghurt tub in the bin.

Plus a million other sentences that I speak every day.

I don’t lose my shit everyday. Too mentally draining and I like to take a lot of deep breaths. But the kids will come and kiss me. Tell me that I am the best mum in the world. And in their eyes I am. But I know differently. I rate myself average, with an A+ for my tantrums.

Sure they might be one of the most stressful hot buttons in my life (which I made in my guts! go me…) but along with their father, they are number one in the top 3 things in my life.

Followed by Container Wars. And cheese.

So tell me, do you have a “lose your shit” stand-out tale that you dare to share?

…….and it turned out that she WAS a mummy-blogger, after all.