I remember having young kids – a two-year-old and a new born, to be precise.
I recall every morning waking up with that sinking feeling, the feeling of deja vu. Get up, feed everyone, get everyone dressed then look at each other for a while. Scrape the Weetbix off the walls and get the pram out.
I had to get out of the house.
I remember going to the park, smiling at other mums who were in the exact same position as me.
Running after toddlers in the park, scooping them up in the nick of time just before they were K-Oed by a swing. More than a few times I ended up in casualty when one of my kid’s heads would come in contact with the “spinning disk of death” referred to as the roundabout.
I recall going to the local Playgroup. We did painting and play dough and other messy stuff that I did not want to do at home because it would just add more cleaning up to my already mundane day. There would be story time and music, which would almost always coincide with when my youngest would do his super-turd of the day. I used a lot of wet wipes at playgroup. Fun times…
I have a theory that kids are like dogs.
You need to run them, work them and tire them out. Sitting around the house all day will make you go insane, but going out was sometimes just as much of a torture. Mr Woog would come home from work and asked what we got up to that day. I told him that from Monday till Friday we were basically on a repeat cycle. And to stop asking because it made me stabby.
I realised I had years of this ahead of me and I needed to suck it up and get on with it. If I was going to go to a park or playground, I wanted to talk to some grown-ups and find at least one special mate that I could share a gin and tonic with at the end of the day if required. So I forced myself on other mums. Not in a Matty Johns kind of way, but I was determined to find a Mummy Gang.
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