“Thought that I could enjoy a nice night out with my besties by having a dinner get together. My mum refuses now to baby sit all three at once (after my last night out a month ago 😂) so I took Jojo with me. He was very well behaved at the restaurant, except he pissed his pants (never happened before) while sitting on my lap (nice!). Came home to discover that Miss 2.5 cried for hours, also wet her pants on my mum’s couch (being a clean freak, her world has ended!) and has a very high fever! My Little Baby Wombat also cried all night, refusing a bottle and is still wide awake! But overall, I guess it was a nice night out! Totally worth it?!”
So here I am now, wide awake from the whirlwind that hit me when I arrived home from my dinner out. I am definitely in the middle of experiencing a ‘normal’ life without a nanny, here in Australia. Granted, I have my mum here but like most grandparents, she’s not like paid help that I can boss around or expect to work tirelessly while I’m trying to manage all of my kids, one at a time. This is what I wanted during my break from Jakarta. Normality. Just me and the kids. Me as a ‘real’ mum.
Sounds silly that I think I’m not a ‘real’ mum, by living in Jakarta with a maid and nanny. But I’ve never had any time alone with my children since having three (for an extended period) so I do feel like a fraud at parenting. Is that a silly thought? Am I the only one who feels this way?
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself? I got my true test as a parent flying here to Melbourne from Brisbane. I flew 2.5 hours with three kids on my own! It surprisingly went very smoothly because as we took off, sweet, sweet angels blew beautiful magic sleeping dust on my kids and they all fell asleep simultaneously without me even trying! I actually got 2 whole hours of quiet time on a flight and as the heavens was already shining down on me, I didn’t need to go to the toilet to pee either! Now that was very unlikely!
So, here I lay. Afraid of the LONG night ahead of breastfeeding (My Little Baby Wombat at the age of one is refusing solids and only wants breast milk EVERY THREE HOURS, still!) and the early morning start of being a ‘real’mum again. I’m sighing and slightly smiling at the same time because, well, I love it and I hate it. Now that is a ‘real’ mum.