Tuesday 21 April 2015

I am An Older Mother.

A few weeks ago, I had a bit of a shock in the school playground. I was chatting to another mum about our son’s teacher. She was saying she had a hard time communicating with her and I was saying I’d found the opposite to be true. I was then stung with this: “Yes, but its ok for you. You’re an older Mother, she respects you!” AN OLDER MOTHER. I was thrown! The girl I was talking to is 26, so not super young. I’m 38. I am an OLDER MOTHER. People see me as an OLDER MOTHER! I laughed it off but I was suddenly very aware (as I hadn’t been previously) of my age.

I am an older mother…apparently. When I had my first kid at 33 (a week shy of 34) I was aware that I was oldish and actually older than I had hoped to be having my first child. But I didn’t massively dwell on it, I’d not settled down earlier in life because I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to settle down with. Most of my friends around my age, give or take a few years, were having babies at the same time. It didn’t feel that alien a concept to be having a baby in my 30s. Even when pregnant with my second baby at 37, having to have an amnio to check for chromosome disorders, I still didn’t think that I should be getting me pipe, slippers and mangy stray cat collection at the ready.

The average age of a first time mother is at an all-time high according to The Guardian at 29.8. And further investigation shows that between 1973 and 1999 the largest age group having bubs was 25-29. From 2008 onwards this had grown to 30-34. Which I am surprised about. Not so much the latter stat but that as early as the 70s the majority were mid to late 20s having their kids. (The stats do show that it’s still a close call with 20-24 age group though, much less so going into the 80s and 90s). I grew up with a young mum. She was 20 (going on 21) when she had me. I thought that was the norm.

Excuse poor quality. It was the 90s. Mum's 40th.
And I loved it. I do still love that my mum is so young. I love that there is hardly a generation gap between us, we like the same music (give or take a McGarrigle sister or two) and we have shared clothes since I was a teen. I remember her 40th birthday party like it was a few years ago and yet I will be having mine next year. As a result of this I DID always want to have kids young. I wanted to be that cool mum that my kid’s friends would want to hang out with! But as I said, it just didn’t happen.


I do worry about how old I will feel and how able I will be when my kids are in their 20s/30s. Will I be able to help them out with childcare pre-school if they have kids themselves? Will I be a rubbish, decrepit old bag incapable of nothing other than moaning, dribbling and drinking sherry?!

Mum looks like my sister, right? She's 40, I'm 19. 

But actually I am glad. I am SO glad I am an older mum. I think despite my worries for declining health in the future, they have been given a start in life that is incomparable to the life I would have provided for them in my early-mid 20s. I was an irresponsible idiot-hole in my 20s. I had the time of my life! I partied hard! I went travelling around the world! I lived in Oz for a year! In short, I had a flipping ball. Then I hit my 30s, the pace of my life slowed down, I met my husband, got a better job, and it actually was the perfect time for me to have kids. As a person in her 30s I am naturally more confident; more sure of my place in the world; much happier and more settled than I ever was in my 20s. Which gives me a great grounding for nurturing my own children’s identities, assuaging there insecurities and meeting their emotional needs. And I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything, I’m not resentful that I can’t go out at night or away for weekends at the drop of a hat because I’ve done all that. I’m far too knackered now!

I feel like now I am getting the best of both worlds. I had years of hedonistic independence and now I’m lucky enough to have stability of a loving family unit.


So yes I am an older mother. And that’s OK. 

I'm old, my bubs are young. It's all cool.


BritMums

Thursday 16 April 2015

Holiday + Small Kids = Hell

Are holidays with small children REALLY holidays? I mean, isn’t a holiday supposed to be a time to relax, enjoy yourself and enjoy new surroundings for a few days (or if you’re crazy, a week plus!)? Isn’t it just going to another place to do the same thing but with added mega stress?

This was my cynical thought process after a particularly harrowing few days away in Portsmouth a couple of months ago. In fact, pretty much every “holiday” we’ve been on since having kids (which has involved between a few days and a week somewhere in the UK) has been stress city with, on very rare occasions, a few pockets of genuine fun at best. Our first holiday was in a lovely cottage in Cardigan, which is where we took Gus swimming for the first time. He was 4 months old. There were some genuinely lovely times but mainly we were on high alert the whole time, not in the slightest bit relaxed (despite the copious evening consumption of Pimms or wine or both). The surroundings couldn’t have been lovelier, the weather was clement, but we were still looking after our first small baby consumed by the weight of new responsibility and perplexed by the end as to why he’d started to cry non-stop. Turns out he needed to start being weaned but I had no idea of this at the time so I came home from that holiday an emotional wreck and that started my first hideous episode with post-natal anxiety.
Pizza Express in the Gunwharf. 

Not a great start.

The second holiday we went on, again in West Wales, fared better but shitty weather, a not particularly toddler friendly beach and a hilly terrain/buggy combo don’t mix too well.

We gave it a miss altogether for the last 2 years. Then in February we booked to stay in Portsmouth for a few nights in a Premier Inn room. It was super cheap! And ill thought through. My Grandparents (late 80s, early 90s) live in Southsea and Emlyn’s (same ages) just a hop away from there on the Isle of Wight. It was going to be a lovely little sojourn to show off our little ones to the oldest generation!

IT WAS HELL ON EARTH.

The packing alone for a 4 year old and 16mth old in a virtually self-catering, very basic hotel room was absurd. We had to literally take the kitchen sink (a washing up bowl et al). The 3.5 hour car journey there was a trauma-fest of boredom and frustration. It was genuinely lovely to see both sets of Grandparents but highly stressful because old people’s houses just aren’t set up for tiny, easily bored kids who have yet to learn social etiquette in such situations! There are breakable things EVERYWHERE. There are pointy corners and slippy rugs and switches and cupboards that can be fiddled with and areas they’re not supposed to go and stairs and no Cbeebies and NOT ENOUGH THINGS to do!

Don’t even talk to me about the logistical nightmare of getting to the South of the Isle of Wight with a car for the day. We spent more time travelling each way than we did at the house and obviously more car journeys was not the kids’ idea of a good time.

But the worst of the worst is 4 people sleeping in a pokey cheap hotel room stuck in the middle of an industrial estate with NO BAR. On the first night, I sat in complete darkness for an hour listening to Joni cry whilst Emlyn took Gus off for chips. We then tentatively put a dim light on and attempted to get him to sleep. He eventually went but woke at 3am and stayed awake asking us if it was time to get up every 5 mins til 5am when he fell asleep. Joni woke at 6am.

The next night everyone was SO pooped we thought for sure it would be easier to get them to sleep. Not on your flipping Nelly. More crying in darkness, more insomniac child. By the next day we were broken. We sacked off the relational visits and ended up in one of those generic, if fairly grim versions of the soft play toddler havens we’d managed to track down. We sat bug-eyed over weak crappy coffees whilst the kids went mental using up their seemingly endless energy resources. Then drove home to Cardiff.

Tell me, please, how HOW was that a holiday?

As most parents will know, we have just had the school Easter holidays. For the second week Emlyn and I took the week off so we could take the kids out every day and enjoy some home time QT. It was amazing! We were super lucky with the weather obviously but that aside, the difference between our time away and last week was incredible. We had kid friendly organised days out every day, we came home to our own beds ....no awful journeys and no horrendous packing. The kids were happy and excited and went to bed at normal times! Hooray! Staycation for the win! It was seriously one of the best weeks we’ve ever had.







So unless we win the lottery and can take a full time nanny, cleaner, packer, journey entertainer, lots of drugs and SEPARATE rooms then we’ll be staycaying very much so for the foreseeable.

Do you holiday with small children and come back with your brain and emotions intact? Please let me know your secrets in the comments section below!


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