A few days ago I had a parenting low. I told Bubble to “Bugger off!”, and not in a joking way. It been a long morning where nothing in particular was going majorly wrong but also nothing going easily right. The thing that had really got me was that everywhere I went, or whatever I did, I had two shadows glued to me with the bigger one (Bubble) asking ‘why?’, about everything. I mean everything. “Why do I have to get dressed?”, “Why do I have to put my shorts on?”, “Why do I have to wear shoes”, “Why can’t I wear wellies?” (32oC heat!), “Why do I had to brush this tooth?”(pointing to specific tooth) and so on. I’m torn between being proud that he is so interested in learning and been concerned that his short-term memory is screwed, as it seems he has to ask the same question approximately 100 times. Toddlers not only test your patience but they rip it apart and stamp on it. Sometimes is too much from me. I can block it out, to be polite, be patient. But as I am discovering, I have a limit.
The strangest thing was that when I told Bubble to bugger off, my first reaction was being quite proud of myself for this restraining my language, as I have been known to get little more fluid with my expressions when I’m stressed, or drunk. The second reaction was that had told my child to bugger when all he was doing was asking me a question. Granted the question was already answered, and it wasn’t even that interesting to begin with.
Despite this low moment and fighting the desperate urge to go out drinking with friends, Bubble has accidentally taught me something. He has me to look at things differently, question why and stop taking things were granted. He is also taught me that I’m not really interested in understanding inner workings of the digger, train or spaceship. I’m learning about my limits and I’m using the phrase “I don’t know. Ask Pappa” more regularly. I’m sure we will exchange harsher words to one another in the near future, only until then I’m thinking of setting Wikipedia is my homepage so as not to crush the idea that Mummy knows everything. This may be considered cheating, but what the hell, I’m simply using the resources I have to hand. Maybe I could argue that I’m teaching him a lesson for life to make myself feel better? But either way, I shan’t forget the day that I told Bubble to bugger off.