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I am an aspiring author writing my debut novel, sharing my journey on the other side of mental illness and anxiety. I also became a mummy in July!
We fully accept that a toddler does not yet understand the difference between a lorry and a motorbike, yet expect them to know an array of different complex emotions and how to deal with them. How many of our children are learning that their emotions don’t matter because the behaviour they are displaying is not acceptable? So we treat their responses to their emotions as we would adults (for whom tantrums and hitting are not acceptable) but then refuse to speak to them like adults by talking to them and trying to empathise with these huge emotional trips that they need our help navigating through. They need understanding and help to ensure that as they grow into little adults, they have the tools available to navigate their own mental health effectively.
Then a week before we were due to fly out, someone swapped my lovely sweet baby, with a formidable, belligerent and tantruming toddler, who thought trying to kick the cat or unearth all the plant pots was a perfectly reasonable way to pass the time. This is no time to teach your over-tired and overwrought toddler that he can’t watch Room on the Broom three times in a row, or that Cheerios aren’t a perfectly acceptable lunch. And since he has no concept of staying near his own mother (unless at home when I can’t move more than two steps away from him without being clung to for dear life), I didn’t want people to think I was trying to kidnap a child. and if you don’t, then be prepared for the hell that is the passport control queue, with a toddler that doesn’t understand the concept of waiting.
Before I was pregnant, like most women, I had an array of sexy lingerie. I am now two years down the line since becoming pregnant and my drawers are full to the brim with big parachute pants. I’ve tried putting on those nice lacy ones that made me feel like a sex goddess, but instead I stand there trying get rid of a none existent wedgy that feels like it’s flossing my arse. An arse that’s still too big for those nice french knicker style you’re all thinking of suggesting to me.
* am I doing the right thing staying home * am I doing the right thing if I go to work * am I giving him enough variety of food * am I feeding too much * am I feeding too little * is my responsive parenting spoiling my child * am I responding enough to my child * is letting him cry going to ruin his entire life * is not letting him cry going to ruin his entire life * is cosleeping going to make him clingy * is not cosleeping going to make it difficult for him to feel attached * am I loving too much * does he KNOW how much I love him Because if you feel guilt, you know you’re not just doing your best; you’re also ready to change something if it doesn’t seem right. My guilt makes me aware of how my child is responding to my parenting, which in turn allows me to amend things so that he gets the best upbringing I can provide.