My path to raising two children solo is slightly unique; we are what is termed a ‘mixed family’. After divorcing my first child’s father, I decided to go it alone and have a second via donor conception. So you could say – more than most – that I chose to parent two as a solo mum. And – more than a first time solo mum – theoretically I had an understanding of solo parenting in practice. So, can you imagine my shock when I found out raising two kids solo is actually a billion times harder than I had envisaged. I thought I’d been pushed to my limits, but I’ve found there are more limits to be met, hit, and – ultimately – smashed to smithereens (nine-tenths of these limit smashing moments occur at bedtime).
It’s not all doom and gloom though, whilst the hard bits are insanely hard, the heartwarming moments are incredibly beautiful. I thought the sibling bond would take much longer to develop, but it’s already clear that my boys are massively in love and it’s amazing to watch.
This is what the daily reality looks like.
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Raising two children is….
Chubby little hands stroking mine as the early light illuminates my greasy, tangled hair upon the pillow, as I breastfeed my baby for the seventh time since we laid down together to sleep.
That scary sensation of drowning; the water pulling me down and I can’t find the edge of the pool to hoick myself out, and there’s noone nearby and my arms flail around, desperate to grab hold of something sturdy, but everything keeps disintegrating under my touch and I don’t know how I’ll go on. I just want to breath.
The baby trying to clamber over me and get to his big brother first thing in the morning with such glee in his eyes it wipes even the most stubborn sleep from my eyes.
Telling the five year old again and again and again to stay downstairs while I put the baby to sleep. It’s using sign language to tell him to get out of the room NOW when he doesn’t listen. And it’s screaming in frustration when he wakes the baby with his incessant complaints that he can’t possibly play alone. Then repeating the whole process again.
It’s witnessing an eight month old baby pretend to run and hide for cover in an attempt to lure his big brother into chasing him and being amazed that a baby could be that clever.
It’s having moments of calm when I try to explain to the five year old that I take the baby out of the room at 6am so he doesn’t wake him, so really, please don’t scream at his sleeping face in the buggy, because mummy puts both your needs in centre court when she can. This isn’t a which son gets more, this is a mummy gets none, scenario.
It’s soaking in the best sound in the world – baby’s gurgly giggles as his brother does anything to make him laugh.
It’s having a five year old give up on all his ‘educational’ toys (train tracks, jigsaws, marble run) to instead run screaming round the room throwing, pushing and pressing all the noisy, plastic tat that has resurfaced in the house.
It’s panicking as the baby’s head hits the floor when his brother throws him around and they both roll over like playful puppies.
It’s intertwined arms, interlaced legs and hands cupping faces on rare lazy mornings in bed.
It’s looking at the baby and wondering what his first word will be then turning to the five year old and wondering when he learnt to speak in such long sentences.
It’s feeling that sense of wonder as I realise I’m witnessing watching a tiny human grow, knowing he can be anything he wants.
It’s feeling the pressure to make sure I don’t mess them both up and to somehow stop screaming if only for the neighbours sake.
It’s being woken by explosive vomits and bed-wetting… simultaneously
It’s having the five year old scream, “vomit, vomit”, every time the baby burps.
It’s utter joy and amazement at watching the love of two brothers grow right before my eyes.
It’s the five year old renaming us all after dinosaurs.
It’s group hugs and team cuddles when someone is sad.
It’s tears of exhaustion, happiness and isolation.
It’s telling the eldest over and over we’re a team and we must look out for each other only to feel like it’s not going in.
It’s trying to clean up the weaning mess before the eldest has trampled it all over the house and failing and finding mice poo to prove it.
It’s grabbing the eldest before he slams into the buggy and scream-whispering “he’s asleep, don’t you dare wake him”, when you’ve spent all day trying to shush and rock him to sleep, only for him to close his eyes the second you enter the school gate for pick up.
It’s waking from a sleep that never really was thanks to hourly wake ups for feeds, rocking, and five year old legs digging in to your side, with exhaustion so extreme your body physically aches like the flu is attacking you from within, only to rise again because you have two little souls who demand it of you.
It’s lying on the bottom bunk whilst the eldest watches you tube on the top bunk and the baby sleeps in his cot because it’s nap time and you’re ill and the five year old won’t let you out of his vicinity because he misses the times when it was just you and him and you wish you could just once give him what he’s crying out for.
It’s feeling proud as you realise big brother has deliberately crept down from the bunk quietly so as not to disturb you cause he thought you were asleep.
It’s wishing silently that there was a second adult to join you in this journey of love and tantrums, for the hard bits, but more so for the good bits.
It’s the five year old sitting patiently on the rug watching whilst you feed the baby to sleep for nap time and feeling a sense of love so deep you cannot believe your luck.
It’s the five year old jumping on your head whilst you try to feed baby and crying, “I can’t cope”.
It’s realising that just as a single mum – child bond is uniquely close, so too is the bond of siblings within a single parent home. The little looks of joy on them both when they see each other first time in the morning, at school pick ups and after nap times.
It’s being shocked by the genuine remorse and worry in the eldest’s face when baby gets his fingers squashed under the door and realising that he does care and his empathy for his brother is genuine and innate and perhaps I’m raising them right after all.
It’s thinking you can’t possible go on, but seeing each new dawn.
It’s feeling the love multiply within you and within your children and knowing that this will only get better with time.
It’s all the love and all the arguments; all the blessings and all the nightmares.
It’s life times two.
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