So the other day we’re sitting at Nanna’s dining table with Lola and Dex was tiptoeing along the edges of tiles nearby.
Talking about their genitalia – as children are often inclined to.
Lola informs Nanna “I’ve got a vagina. and Dexter has a penis!”
To which Dexter adds “Yep! I do!” And wiggles in our general direction to emphasize the point.
Lola then sits and thinks for a second before telling Nanna “And Daddy has a BIIIIIIIIG penis!”
Because obviously everyone’s bits need to be discussed at the dining table.
Not to be outdone though because the next day:
In the parent’s room at the local shopping centre and we’re in the toilet 0 the one that has the small toilet and the big toilet.
Lola was on the little toilet and Dex was on the big toilet.
Dex had finished so I decided to do a wee also.
Once Lola had finished, we washed our hands and we’re walking out and Dex loudly says “Lola’s got a little vagina. Mummy has a BIG vagina. Little vagina’s don’t have hair on them.”
Geez, thanks guys.
P.S. These are things we discuss at home. We always talk about how it’s not appropriate for anyone to touch your vagina or penis. About how it is yours and yours alone and to tell either Mummy or Daddy if anyone touches you and makes you feel yucky.
We don’t shame any particular body part and all parts are talked about openly.
I don’t post because I don’t want to burden people.
And after all, what sort of person lays her soul bare on the internet for all to read?
Where’s the dignity in that?
I have children who don’t sleep.
And yes everyone has children who don’t sleep.
Mine are still awake now after 2 hours of sleep time stuff – it is 8:30pm.
Constantly doing that is exhausting.
They are up about 2 – 3 times a night each. Usually they tag team.
I wake up with one or both in my bed and carry them back to theirs.
It is exhausting.
Lola gets up at about 5:30am. It is exhausting.
You’re right, I do only have two children.
You’re right, plenty of people have done it before me.
I’m not them.
Do they have a son who is such a sensory seeker that he punches and hits his little sister and his mum to the point of bruising?
Yes. I’m expecting a call about Lola’s bruises every day.
I don’t know what to do.
It’s not something smacking fixes. It’s not something yelling, or time out or taking toys away “fixes”.
She on the other hand is either constantly retaliating (understandable) or hanging off some body part of mine whining incessantly.
Yes. I chose parenthood.
No. I did not choose this.
I feel like such a failure at everything right now.
I don’t know how to help my son do things constructively.
I don’t know how to help my daughter build enough of herself she does not need to hang off me every second.
I feel like they could have a better parent.
I’m sinking into somewhere that’s familiar. Those children that drive me crazy are also the only ones keeping me from it.
I just want it to be me and them against the world. Building veggie gardens and swimming in rock pools, going for long walks in the forest.
Snuggling together in bed each night.
I just want it to be simple and I want it to be mine.
But there is always bills to pay. And stuff to do. And faces to put on.
I’m a bad blogger.
I don’t post even though I’ve got things running through my head to post about.
Mostly I don’t post because I know my mum and my MIL read and they probably don’t need/want to know about my sex life (Hi guys!)
Or because I think that the ramblings in my head aren’t really something I think I should waste your time with.
But I guess if you’re like me and you’re procrastinating doing whatever it is that sent you to the internet in the first place, 3 minutes worth of reading internet dribble is 3 minutes more procrastinating.
I’m having surgery in 1 week 2 days from now.?
And I am fucking packing it.
I am scared and excited at the same time.
And I’m not sure how many of you out there have anxiety, but to my brain, anxiety and excitement kind of feel the same with the heart and the buzzing.
So my body is all FUCK WHATS WRONG WHERE ARE WE RUNNING OR ARE WE FIGHTING WHERE?!?!!?
And I came of my blood pressure meds.
So I’m stressing that the anxious excitement is making my blood pressure bad.
And the stressing makes it worse.
I’m a giant ball of nerves who has been distracting herself with whatever food I can shove in my mouth because food.
Not even good food.
And for that I feel terrible.
Chocolate now = instaheadache.
You’d think that would stop me, right? Apparently not.
Musksticks = feeling sick. Guess who feels sick. (Not right now because I put my foot down because GEEZ JESS DRAW A LINE)
So I’m counting down until next Wednesday.
And I’m having almost an entire week away from the kids, which I’m not going to lie is nice.
I have to try and get a full night’s sleep before then.
Up until this point I have avoided that Dexter has Sensory Processing Disorder.
I got a diagnosis for him and it felt like a weight off my shoulders and I was relieved.
I was not a bad parent.
I did not have a “naughty” child.
I had a child with sensory processing disorder and that explained a shitload.
But then I put it out of my mind.
People around me treated it as if I was looking for an excuse for his behaviour.
Like I just accepted that by some standard he is “naughty” and I was just saying oh it’s okay, he has x.
I got told “You know you can just use a wooden spoon.”
You know what?It doesn’t fucking work.
None of it fucking works.
Not yelling. Not smacking. Not shaming.
Ashamed to say – I’ve tried it all.
Bargaining. Pleading. Punishing. Rewarding.
My kid is a seeker.
He will do things over and over again even though he’s been told not to because he seeks sensory input.
He will jump off things and run into things and hit things and yell – not to be mean or rude but because he likes the feeling of it.
And while yes – it is my “job” as a parent to help him find stimulation that meets his needs in a safe way, he will keep doing it.
BECAUSE HE HAS SENSORY PROCESSING DISORDER.
Maybe next time you feel like being a judgy mc-judgy pants to that mum at the supermarket who is holding back the tears, consider how SHE feels. And maybe that he child is not “being naughty” or “needing a good smack”.
I have put direct plans in place to reach specific goals in my life.
Plans that directly relate to what I want to do for a career.
I’m not afraid to fail.
I know I can do it.
I’m so sure in my heart that this is what I’m meant to be doing that I get tears in my eyes and I can’t not smile because I’m so relieved that I’m finally on my way to being the me I really am.
I am afraid of succeeding though.
I’m afraid of the friends I’ll lose and the enemies I’ll make along the way.
Because it takes a special kind of person to be happy for someone else’s success.
It takes a special kind of person to say “well done” and be entirely genuine about it.
It takes a special kind of person to accept that someone is entirely happy in who they are and what they’re doing and accept that they know they have found their calling.
It’s hard to not be jealous.
It’s hard to not want to bring them down.
It’s hard to not want to accentuate their flaws or pick on their insecurities because then you feel better. If they’re not perfect, you can be a little happier in yourself that they have found their true love because you can focus on that.
I refuse to be that person.
I’m not afraid of falling.
I’m not afraid of getting hurt.
I’m not afraid of dead ends and hard work.
I am afraid that people in my life won’t be able to accept that I am doing what I love.
But those people will have to accept it and be happy or get out of my way.
I refuse to compromise what I’m destined for because others’ may not be able to handle it.
If we could all just be a little bit happier for those around us, maybe we’d realise more quickly our heart’s calling.
So I’m getting back into everything.
Including eating for fuel.
But I don’t see the point in eating for fuel if you don’t enjoy what you’re eating.
I enjoy eating these so it’s a win/win
1/3 cup protein powder
1/3 cup LSA
1/3 cup coconut crunch plus extra to roll balls in
1/3 cup chia seeds
1/3 cup sugar free hot chocolate mix
1 tub less than 5% fat cream cheese.
Let cream cheese get to room temperature.
Or everything in a bowl.
Use a teaspoon size dollop of mix, roll it into a ball and cover with coconut crunch (easiest to put some in a bowl and roll the balls around in that).
Makes approx 14.
Great for the kids too.
I know because I made these this morning, I took two to work and they had one each.
Can’t home 4 hours later and the remaining ten have been eaten.
The girls over at Operation Move have been
making me feel super dooper lazy motivating me to just fucking do it. And as I don’t have a car and won’t for another 2 weeks - gym visits and few and far between.
You know when it’s raining and you’re driving somewhere you always see that one runner, out in the rain, water streaming off them and they gracefully continue on their way without a care in the world, obviously lost in the rhythm that is their running?
That wasn’t me.
I was the one that managed to be red faced, sweaty, red legged (that what happens when you exercise people, they go red. Same as your face. Red blood cells rise to the surface of your skin to aid in cooling – fun fact)
How the fuck does one sweat in the rain?
I ran 4.2km in 33:08 minutes.
And I felt it all.
I was hungry. I was tired. My hamstrings were tight.
I just wanted to sit on the lounge and do nothing, followed by doing nothing whilst eating ice cream.
But I have goals.
and those goals don’t align with sitting on my ass while it gets bigger.
It wasn’t easy.
I’m not going to lie I was writing inspirational blog posts in my head as I was running so then I couldn’t quit because then I would be a hypocrite.
Only made it a tiny bit easier.
And then I started thinking about all those stupid fucking slogans about when it starts hurting, don’t stop – run faster. Won’t make it hurt less but it will be over sooner.
They are right.
Exercise is uncomfortable.
None of it hurts as much as having a goal and knowing you didn’t reach it because you just didn’t try enough, though.
p.s. To be like that girl is my goal.