I’m not a natural parent. I’m neither blessed with abundant amounts of patience nor am I the most maternal. Please don’t get me wrong; I would not change being a Mum for all the money in the world and I adore the constant
frustrations challenges that the Boys bring but there are days when I would like my old, carefree, perky-breasted lifestyle from pre-children.
I honestly thought that I was in the minority, so kept these feelings inside. On the good days, it was more a question of “it’s only a bit of tomato ketchup”. On the bad days, I really would have walked out of the house and left them to it.
So imagine my delight at finding a blog that upon reading, basically says “it’s ok, it happens to us all and look at what my little rugrats did this time”. I applaud it. I welcome it. Most of all, I cried because finally I could see that I wasn’t alone. Granted, it was 7 years too late but I’ve survived and most importantly so have the Boys.
Fellow parents, it doesn’t matter if your little ones aren’t quite so little any more, I suggest you read this blog and bask in the warm glow of understanding.