My Stay-At-Home Mum Fail

Bear with me on this blog post. I’m typing mostly one-handed, for reasons I’ll explain soon, so spelling mistakes are likely.

I was hoping to write a blog post sharing all the successes I’ve experienced in my first two weeks as a stay-at-home mum. I was supposed to be telling you how SB has learned how to count to 100 in three different languages and can write her name with impeccable handwriting (well, maybe not, but I was hoping to at least have taught her something), how we’d followed Pinterest craft instructions to the letter and come out with some mini masterpieces, we’ve been on lots of cultural days out and eaten wholesome, fulfilling meals together.

Maybe I was a little ambitious.

SB has learned new things. She can name lots of Pokemon characters now, because it’s pretty much all she’s watched for the last two weeks. She’s also started an illustrious career as a hairdresser by brushing my hair whenever I allow her to (I don’t mind it, but she whacks me on the head with the hairbrush if I don’t sit still enough).

Cultural days out? We’ve visited the library, once. Because it had air conditioning on the hottest day of the year so far.

As for wholesome meals… well, she’s eaten plenty of jam sandwiches, and jam is technically fruit, right?

A grand total of zero craft activities have been attempted.

In short, I am pretty sure I’m failing as a stay-at-home mum.

I have mitigating circumstances. A sharp brake in the car over the weekend resulted in a trip to A&E, x-rays, my arm in a sling and my shoulder trying to decide whether or not to stay in its socket.

Also, I’m new at all of this.

That’s the excuse I’m using, anyway.

So far, since I have been at home with her, she has muttered “Oh my God” more time than I can count, told me her “arse” hurts today and I’m pretty sure I heard her say “oh shit” when she tripped over something yesterday. So at least her vocabulary is expanding in my care.

But look at this kid.

She’s happy. She’s watched a lifetime’s worth of Pokemon episodes in the space of two weeks and can pretty much recite “How To Train Your Dragon” word for word. She gets biscuits because I need to give her snacks that don’t need any preparation. She gets to make as much mess on the living room floor as she wants. She’s living every two year old’s dream life, really.

So am I really failing that much? (Well… yes. Yes, I am. But the point I’m making is that I don’t care).