Monday, 17 August 2009
a bit lary
I'm an only child.
I don't think I’m an especially typical only child, by that I mean spoilt and selfish, though I’m hardly likely to admit to those personality traits, am I? Very much unlike the typical only child I am very good at sharing and not that keen on attention. Honestly!
A result of my only-child-ness is that I am inexperienced at scrapping. I didn't have to defend my Strawberry Shortcake dolls from an evil older brother. Or lash out at a younger sister when I realised she'd taped over the Neighbours wedding. My childhood was punch-up free, the only physical conflicts were with my Dad when he squeezed my knee, which tickled like mad. That was the worse of it. Pathetic.
I'm not much of an arguer either. I don't like them and am not good at them. I had one argument with my folks when I was a teenager. That's it. (My husband insists I reiterate this point as he says no one who doesn’t actually know you will believe that. It is fact.)
I hardly ever bickered with friends as I was growing up and even now I rarely fall out with my husband. I'm altogether pretty darn placid.
Or rather I was until I had my children.
Prior to my eldest son's arrival, in April 2007, I would always stand aside for people in shops and on pavements.
I would be charming to wrong numbers.
I would give up my seat on public transport.
I’d let people go ahead of me in queues and hold the door open at the library.
I’m not a doormat, just super polite.
All that changed at 5:10am on 15th April in the delivery room. I went from being laid back to lary. I developed the type of maternal aggression you expect in big cats. Everyone and everything was suddenly a potential threat to the health and happiness of my young.
As a result I am more often than not unnecessarily arsey to the degree that it makes my husband uncomfortable and those around me a bit unnerved. I mean, how else should a mum of two react when a rep from the Red Cross interrupts nap time, disturbing dog and boys? If it is wrong to say "My children are sleeping! Get lost!" I don't want to be right.
A teenage girl, collecting for charity knocked at my front door a few months ago I was trying to express breast milk (as fun as it sounds), keep the dog quiet and answer emails all while my sons briefly slept. Even the sound of the doorbell made me furious and by the time I’d got to the door I was ready to lash out.
Did I want to donate a regular sum of money to the soil association she asked?
My response was "Oh for goodness sake, you've made me answer the sodding door for this? Of course I don't want to give you any money!" and with that I shut the door.
But I wasn't finished.
I opened the door again as she began scuttling back to the gate to say:
"And you can take that look off your face now too! How dare you rolls you eyes at me!"
The poor girl was now almost off my land, but not quite so I had one last pop.
"And for goodness sake, shut the gate after yourself. If you can work out how." The poor TEENAGE girl! She muttered something about me being very rude which obviously enraged me further so as she was walking away from my house I shouted at the back of her head: "And don't come back!"
Crikey, who was this intruder who'd taken my good nature and replaced it with fury?
A fully fledged no nonsense kick arse mummy, that's who!
And if you have a problem with that I’m very keen to discuss. Loudly. With fists.
Maybe I’ll calm down, as the boys get older?
Maybe I'll stop sarcastically apologising for being in shops.
Or barking "No, I’m not Clive Jones; do I sound like Clive sodding Jones!" at wrong numbers.
Age will probably mellow me out a bit.
But until that happens I’m going to enjoy it as best I can and hope that waiters don't spit in my soup.
Posted by Louise Williams at Monday, August 17, 2009