It gets easier

It must be one of the most annoying statements a mother with a small baby will ever hear. It comes from mothers with slightly older babies. Even as much as a month seems to 'allow' them to tell you this. 

But really: when you're in the middle of it (whatever 'it' may be) being told it'll get easier doesn't help. It actually makes it worse. Because what will be better in a few weeks time doesn't help you now. 

Going shopping with the two boys was something I avoided. We don't have a double buggy so Big Brother would be on the buggy board and Little Brother in the buggy. But Big Brother is bound to get tired/bored/jealous/moody/hungry and refuses to stay on te board. So you carry a 2,5 year old while pushing the baby in the buggy. Fun, in the middle of a shopping centre. 

But let's face it: if I want these kids to wear clothes that fit and don't have holes in them I need to get out and get them some. So we did. 

I decided not to be too ambitious and made a very small list of things to get and do. 

And really, if you ignore the part where the kids were inside the locked up car and I was outside the car, it all went very well. Big Brother decided to love the buggy board, modelled the cardigan I was thinking of getting him, picked up the socks Little Brother kept taking of and dropping on the floor and said a very nice 'thankyouwel' (a combination of thank you and its Dutch translation dankjewel) when the man at the cafe handed him a biscuit. 

So. 

I'm sorry to say it. 

And never thought I would. 

But. 

It gets easier. 

Just never give your toddler the car keys when you're getting the buggy out of the car. Because he might just lock himself and his brother in the car. 

The picture in my head vs reality

I had this lovely picture in my head of how tonight would go. 

You see, the boys had been really good all day. Little Brother had a great night and two long naps today. He was in flying form. Big Brother had an early start, but played well all day. On his own and with his brother. 

So tonight the boys would go to bed, The Husband would go to mountain rescue training and I would have time to write a blog, do some research on various subjects and I would crochet a little gift for my friend's baby. 

Well. 

The reality was that I forgot The Husband had to leave the house before seven. Which meant I had to put Big Brother to bed as well. So when Little Brother finally settled, after a bedtime bottle battle I had to race downstairs so The Husband could leave. Big Brother took 45 minutes to settle and just as I left his room little Brother started crying again. I burped, rocked, sang, patted, fed and after 40 minutes he was quiet. 

I then realised the dogs needed feeding. And when I finally sat down with a cup of tea Little Brother started again. 

All in all:

Bedtime took just over TWO HOURS.  

I managed 20 minutes of research. 

No crochet. 

I'm squeezing out this post with my eyes wanting to close. 

And. My tea was cold, again. 

Soldier on

I thought you were suppose to be well rested and rejuvenated when returning from holidays. How wrong was I. 

Where I went wrong? I took Big Brother and Little Brother (and The Husband) with me. Fool. 

No seriously. We had a lovely time. 

Swimming, playgrounds, the beach, picturesque villages, relaxing breakfasts, easy meals and even sunshine! It was lovely. 

But we had two children with us that don't sleep well at the best of times. Put them in a new environment, beds that aren't their own in rooms without blackout blinds and being up only half the night begins to sound appealing. Not one morning did The Husband and I wake up in the same bed. 

We don't do 'crying it out', we don't do schedules, we don't do waking sleeping babies for feeds. But at times like these I start to doubt our choices, our parenting style. As a baby I was left to cry it out and I grew up to be a happy person. So really, how bad can it all be? 

But I can't. We can't. Crying is a baby's only way to communicate. Ignoring it is so wrong. Yes some babies need to cry a bit to shut down, but endless screaming is just not fair. 

And so we soldier on. 

Hoping to sleep for more than 2 hours in a row. 

Soon. 

The Inbetweener

In the world of mothers there are two types; The Earthy Mother and The Schedule Mother. (Yes I made that up myself. Yes this is how I see it and not necessarily 100% correct. Yes it's quite black and white. But hey, it's my blog, so...) 

The Earthy Mother is 100% mother and ok with that. Breast feeds (for a long time). Feeds on demand. Co-sleeps. Is a mother and only a mother. Is ok with endless nursing, rocking, sleepless nights. Can completely accept spending every second of every day with her baby. 

The Schedule Mother is a mother, but wants to be more than that. Wants to have a life besides the baby. Feeds baby (a bottle) every four hours. Has routine for everything: nap-time, bed-time, bottle-time. 

And you know what? 

It works. 

Both options work. 

Because both mothers have a 'package' with elements that together make for one smooth ride. 

Ok, I didn't tell the truth in the first paragraph. There are actually three types of mothers; The Earthy Mother, The Schedule Mother and then there is me. The one that can't make up her mind, that's not the one nor the other. But somewhere in between. 

I breast feed. Because I know that is the best option for my baby. But the randomness of the feeding times, the lack of schedule is something I struggle with. 

I don't want to let my baby cry. But sitting with him in a darkened room helping him to sleep 5 times a day is something I find hard. 

The thought of someone other than me (or The Husband) looking after my baby scares me and I know that being at home with us is the best thing for them. But being only a mother makes me feel limited and not myself. 

So every day I try to figure out what is best for my baby and for me. And we'll get there, one day at a time.