I am writing this whilst leaning back – reasonably heavily – on my cat cushion. Not a feather-stuffed, velvet-covered cat cushion, mind: it’s a real life cat cushion. Living and breathing. Slightly more supportive than an inanimate one, if you must know. And the constant, heavy purring is incredibly relaxing – those vibrations, along with his occasional squirmy rearranging of the limbs, provide a sort of low-key massage chair effect.
Not at all like one of those massage chairs that you get at some hairdressing salons or nail bars. Where on earth do they get those monstrosities from? I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe in one, let alone relaxed. The clanky rollers that move up and down beneath the pleather surface, the “fingers” that knead at your shoulders…it’s like being massaged by Edward Scissorhands, except that he’s doing it crouching on your back wearing rollerskates.
Anyway, I don’t know why the cat has suddenly taken to squeezing himself behind me as I sit at my desk – it’s as though he’s developed some sort of squashing fetish. The more I lean back, the more he loves it. It’s all very odd and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with it, despite the fact that it feels really nice. I just worry about his little bones, or that he might suffocate. But still, he jumps in and crawls into the space behind my back and then pokes at me with his paws until I lean back and exert some pressure…
I’ve been at my desk a lot. I know you probably think I’ve been off having a lovely old time, but I have been working. Just not online. No checking Instagram every ten minutes, no Twitter notifications or Youtube alerts: just good old-fashioned typing away on Microsoft Word, typing like it’s 1999.
I say “working” but I use that word loosely because my brain is still very firmly in lockdown mode, despite the country starting to open back up for business. My brain just won’t seem to exit itself from the emergency energy saving programme it entered back in March; whenever something pressing needs to be done, it replies telepathically with oh, don’t worry about it. Life’s too short. There are bigger fish to fry. And other clichés. A rolling stone gathers no moss.
That last one wasn’t really relevant but it’s always been a favourite. Mainly because I don’t fully understand it. Why would you want to gather moss? It always sounds a bit like some stuffy aunt saying to you, when you’re young and all you want to do is go to Bali and get shitfaced on a beach with semi-naked hot guys wearing shark-tooth pendants, “oh, all of that gadding about! You’ll never be able to collect a load of rubbish porcelain dolls and put them in a dusty glass-fronted cabinet in your lounge if you carry on travelling to exotic places! Where’s your ambition, girl? A rolling stone gathers no moss! Don’t you want to stay in one place and know the same set of thirty-three people for your entire life? How will you ever know Maureen from number sixty-four’s business if you keep up this relentless penchant for discovering the wider world?”
Or something.
I had some notes on what the kids have been up to, because this is supposed to be a life update. They have been making little things from modelling clay (an elephant, a toadstool garden, pictured above – guess who actually made them both? Thank you, yes, I know they are brilliant), making dens around the garden, populating the dens with every single toy they can find and then leaving them out overnight to go soggy and finally, bringing stuff inside that should be outside. Leaves. Stones. Snails, dead or alive.
I feel as though this is a very particular parenting era that we are experiencing right now, with its own set of rules and quirks. It changes every week, but I think I could sum up the current era (daughter: just turned five, son: three and a half) with the following headings: inflexibility, warm hands and continuing exhaustion.
Inflexibility. There is suddenly a real lack of wriggle room when it comes to negotiations. I find it so frustrating, trying to get two small, loud people to do stuff they don’t want to do that I frequently resort to a) making threats I later don’t have the energy to uphold (“I will take all of the toys from your bedroom and put them in a bin bag if you don’t stop whacking her with the space robot!”) and b) telling minor fibs. Usually my little lies involve something being closed or something needing batteries. “Can we watch the iPad?” “No, it needs batteries.” “Can you make us a den in the living room?” “No, the living room’s…closed.”
Warm hands. I’m trying to appreciate the feeling of small, warm hands in mine. Because my daughter is now almost as tall as me, seemingly, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pick her up. She’s just suddenly quite long and unwieldy. It’s like trying to walk along carrying an olive tree, or, I don’t know, a small hat stand. A clothes airer. Everything’s angular, rangy. Limbtastic. And so I know that soon I’ll be weeping over that poem – how does it go?
One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down
And never pick them up that way again
(If you ever want to have a maudlin old weep then read the whole thing – it’s called The Last Time. In fact I’ll type it out below for you. Hankies at the ready.)
So yes, even though she’s still grabbing my face for kisses, and the three year-old still likes to be picked up and carried now and then, and both of them still curl their little warm hands into my palm when we walk along, I know that they are growing up faster than I can process and that I must remember every tiny detail. Perfectly round tummies sticking out of the gap between outgrown pyjama tops and bottoms, messy, sweaty night-hair, tiny arms that seem as fragile as bird bones when you rub them with sunscreen, mispronounced words (favourite of the week is Trinoceros, which I personally think is an excellent replacement for Triceratops), the instantly-recognisable little call of “Mummy? Mummy?” from up the stairs, the spilt drinks and dropped food, the theme tune to World Kitchen on CBeebies (every day at noon on lockdown, the soundtrack to our luncheons), the very particular bedtime routines…
Continuing Exhaustion. My final defining characteristic of this particular life era: ongoing, relentless exhaustion. Sometimes I try to look back on the baby years and work out whether they were blissfully relaxing in comparison, or horrendously tiring. Maybe as things get easier, and you get more sleep, you become spoilt and you think you’re more tired, but on the other hand, babies are pretty low-maintenance in comparison to small children. You feed them, you change their nappies, you (eventually) get them to sleep, but for the majority of the day you can manage to do stuff like make a cup of tea, fold some laundry, write a few emails, and you can do it all whilst the baby stares at a shadow on the wall and catches invisible butterflies and drools on itself. Not possible with kids. Maybe things change, but at the moment, 5+3, there’s a window of approximately eight minutes when they will quietly and enjoyably play and then all hell breaks loose. And if hell isn’t breaking loose then someone is asking a question, repeatedly, with exactly the same intonation and rhythm, over and over again until someone answers, and quite often it’s not even a question it’s just a statement phrased like a question, which is irritating and incorrect at the best of times but when it’s on robotic repeat for over thirty seconds it’s easy just to absolutely lose your mind:
“Mummy he put lego in my ear? Mummy? He put lego in my ear? Mummy he put lego in my ear? Mummy? Mummy he put lego in my ear?”
But then in the quiet moments, you miss that incessant background noise, it’s as though all of the life has been sucked out of the room. The sound of a dripping tap is suddenly mournful, rain upon the window panes just feels a bit empty. You sip on your tea/read your paper/pick dirt from under your nails with a butter knife/insert any other enjoyable activity, and the silence is almost deafening. And you think to yourself, ah, isn’t it lovely to have a house filled with kids’ noises, and then one of them comes in and clangs a metal spoon along the radiator and you almost self-combust with the ferocity of your conflicted emotions.
I’ll leave you on that deep and uncharacteristically profound note. Oh and here’s the poem:
The Last Time (author unknown)
From the moment you hold your baby in your arms you will never be the same
You might long for the person you were before
When you had freedom and time
And nothing in particular to worry about
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before
Days will run into days that are exactly the same
Full of feedings and burping
Nappy changes and crying
Whining and fighting
Naps or a lack of naps
It might seem like a never-ending cycle
But don’t forget…
There is a last time for everything
There will come a time when you will feed your baby for the very last time
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child
One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down
And never pick them up that way again
You will scrub their hair in the bath for one last time
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone
They will hold your hand to cross the road
Then will never reach for it again
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this
One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus” and do all the actions
Then never sing them that song again
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times. And even then, it will take you a while to realize.
So while you are living in these times, remember there are only so many of them and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.
For one last time.
My kids are 29, 27 and 20 and this poem had me in tears. But last night my daughter had an insommnia night, it’s much less frequent now but when she does she still comes and wakes me to get in to her bed so she can sleep. I know there will be a last for this too but I’m going to treasure it while I can. And while there are many lasts, there are also many firsts. First time you let them go out at night with their friends, first driving lesson, first day at college/uni, first boyfriend/girlfriend etc. All terrifying but a part of giving them wings. And then when they are all married and partnered off God made Grandchildren so that we can do it all over again only with more sleep!! I really cannot wait!!!
I have two daughters 20 & 17. Last week my youngest had wisdom teeth pulled. She slept in my bed for 2 nights and I wondered if this was last time. I was her “nurse” for a week and loved every minute! And I know she did too when I kept getting hearts with every text. They’re always our babies, always
Oh, cute! :)
That poem gets me every time – someone pass the tissues!
Mine are six and four, and there have been so may last times already, many of which I only recently realized when holding my newborn niece.
Beautifully written,
true
Makes me feel a bit sad for my mum. I’m 31, my sister 27 and my brother 21. He’s moving out at the end of the month, my sister lives 300 miles from mum and I live over in Thailand.
She’s super unsentimental so would probably hate this poem though :P
Ah, you’re all scattered! xx
You got me!! I knew I shouldn’t read it but I did and then was surreptitiously wiping away tears. Such a cliche, but so true.
I also loved ‘then one of them comes in and clangs a metal spoon along the radiator and you almost self-combust with the ferocity of your conflicted emotions’ because you’ve described it perfectly. It amazes me how you can love them so deeply , yet want to run away screaming sometimes because of them too.
Also, also, been to the list office lately or had to employ the crab technique?? Need to know,!??
Hahaha, no I’ve not been to a shop since!
F’n sobbing and my “kids” are 24, 22 & 20. Your words ring so very true. When you are in the thick of it and exhausted by it all, it’s very hard to see that one day it will all be a faint memory. Keep squeezing those warm little hands for as long as they will let you.
Ruth, I loved your article and especially the poem. It felt as if I had just turned around and my babies were all grown up; one in uniform and the other training in the Optical World. Wasn’t it just yesterday that little hands clasped around my neck and I did my best to prevent armageddon in the garden!
Enjoy these days with your children Ruth – as the author of the poem rightly says nothing lasts for ever, not even lockdown!
Take care and continue to stay safe. x
Ohhhh for heaven’s sake why haven’t I grabbed the hankie when you told me too! My little one used me as a mattress for months and couldn’t sleep if not squished beside me. Three years later, after a thunderstorm (scares him), lying beside him in his big boy’s bed, he turns while falling asleep and realizes that I’m still there. “Mamma, I don’t like this. Please go away.” He said please though ;-)
Hahahaha! xx
Beautifully written, and so true. The thing about the “last time” is that you don’t even know it’s the last time until it has already slipped away. It’s wonderful when your children become adults whose company you really enjoy, but those early years are so magical.
Thank you Nancy x
Thank you Ruth. What a beautifully poignant post.
I don’t suppose your new work venture is setting up an overpriced fruit and veg stall at a hospital in Bradford? Because that was the dream I woke up from Friday morning. £6 for six raspberries; you should be ashamed, woman.
I don’t even live in Bradford.
hahahaha! Sounds like M&S raspberries!
I’m about to start a job at Bradford hospital and this would be fantastic. I’d pay £6 for some skincare advice with my raspberries!!
Hahaha. I’d mainly be stocking apples, tbh, they’re easier to transport.
Reading that poem with my newborn snoozing on my chest and five year old climbing all over me; still brings a tear to my eye. They are definitely more exhausting once they can move, talk, and make demands!
Also love that we share the same lunchtime lockdown routine – WHAT’S ON YOUR PLATE?!
Hahahaha! What’s on your bloody plate. Honestly. I love it though.
‘the ferocity of conflicting emotions’ is a perfect summing up of the joys and stresses of parenting. I love your writing. I wonder if that state will ever leave us, or is that just how it is now?…
I think it stays. x
Oh! That poem hit me right in the feels. I guess it’s why some people refer to it as a season of life, because ultimately it’s so fleeting, even though it feels like trudging through the Valley of Shit.
Haha, the Valley of Shit!
Ruth I absolutely loved that. I thought it was only me that puts back 235 cuddly toys to their toy boxes at night (not sure why as they all come back out into various dens the next day). I also tell the iPad battery lie although my 6 year old now tells me the % left on the charge to outwit me..
As for the tiredness, yes still there. Ours are just turned 5 and soon to be 7 and as well as my full time job I’m also a referee during waking hours (the Lego rows).
That poem reminded me of what it’s all for. Loved it. Stay sane! X
I use the battery lie for just about everything, including myself. As in I have no batteries left. So can’t get up. : )
A new one for me to use. Thanks!
You’ve just broken me with “The Last Time”. My daughters are 30 and 26 and just this……..
Especially poignant in these times. Eldest daughter lives just 600 yards away and only came into our home for the first time last night and I insisted she could give me a hug. She was so reluctant to do so. We will get through this though, hopefully there will be light at the end of the tunnel.
You’ve brought great rays of light with your writing, humour and blogs during this time Ruth and I’m hoping to hear news of a book soon…….
Thank you and I’m so glad you got the hug! x
That poem! Ruth, how could you?!? *Weeps for two hours, while scrolling through pictures of her children on her phone*
LOL sorry x