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Keeping Mum

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

Instructions for motherhood. Eat plenty of healthy foods while pregnant. No, not that much. Exercise regularly during pregnancy. No, not that way. And not that much. Be consistent in your everything. But also, you need to be flexible and recognise that everything changes all the time. Talk to your baby as much as possible. This is how they learn language. Don’t use so many words when talking to your child. They can’t take it in. It overwhelms their brain. 

It’s this last one that I have been working on lately. Maybe a month before Christmas, I stopped. Not entirely, of course. But my verbal output has drastically reduced. Here’s why and what I have noticed as a result.

The why. Have you seen the episode of Bluey (yes, there’s an episode for everything) called Show and Tell? Well, that’s why, in a nutshell. Grownups talk too much. Kids can’t take in all those words. Minimise the words to maximise the understanding. Well, not so much understanding as engagement and connection. They have better things to do, and even if their body is trained to stay still and listen and say an appropriately-timed “Okay” or “Yes” or “Sorry”, their brain has really moved on.

Further to the why, though, is the why for me now. I mean, I’ve been a huge fan of Bluey since C started watching it during lockdown. And I have been reading parenting posts on social media for quite some time now in order to glean all the helpful tips I can without going the next step of enrolling in a child psychology course. I thought I was fulfilling the “talk but not too much” criterion of parenting. I was still, though, frequently saying (please don’t judge me I’m still learning) phrases like, “Am I talking to myself here?”, and “Is anybody listening to me?” Bonus, E is in the 4-year-old girl phase of super chatty combined with the lack of impulse control from E and S that means that I am interrupted allllllll the time. Reducing my output has reduced my frustration at being interrupted and at not being heard 

Also in the why for me now category is volume control. I am trying soooooo hard to reduce my shouting. Yelling. Raising my voice. For a huge number of reasons, most of which I think will be bleedingly obvious so I won’t waste anyone’s time here, but also, C is super sensitive to loud sounds so any shouting just upsets her and doesn’t have any other effect, and also, shouting has no effect. Kids don’t magically listen if the volume is raised. Kids don’t instantly stop doing the thing that made the shout happen. Often, they just keep going but now think it’s a game and isn’t that fun. My number one job of keeping them safe needed a better way.

I took inspiration from Mrs March in Little Women. Hold it in. Keep mum. Purse those lips. If necessary, do something else with my body, like rage washing or rage cleaning or rage sorting. She doesn’t call it that, of course, but the result is the same. 

There was also the What If making me still talk a lot of What if they are about to do something that will hurt them or another? But you know what? We are into the learn by doing stage. It has other names, too, but I’m not going to type them here for my mum to read (Hi mum!). The general idea is, do what you can to keep your kids safe but there will come a time when they’re just going to do what they want anyway and then they can find out for themselves why it was a not recommended course of action. Like, if you climb on those rocks, cool, but when you fall off (which you will because I know you don’t have that much rock climbing experience or balance capability just yet) then you’re going to fall into that big mud puddle there and being muddy isn’t a sensory experience you enjoy. Oh look at that. You fell. You’re muddy. You’re screaming about being muddy. The Old Me would have then given the lecture. The, “See? This is why I said not to climb on the rocks. I could see” – and honestly, I’m bored by myself. Poor kids. New Me: “Yep. You’re muddy. Shall we try to clean you up here or head home now?”

This approach of minimal talking has become most apparent at bedtimes. Bedtimes, when I am still on and haven’t been able to do much of anything for me or on my own since a walk (ideally) around 6am. Bedtimes, when I have been trying so hard all day to be thoughtful and caring and curious about what on earth led them to do that thing that ended up with everyone in tears. Bedtimes, when I’m actually just wanting to curl up in bed myself because it’s actually really hard to function every day on an average of less than five hours’ sleep a night for years. 

Keeping mum started out for me as a little experiment. Did it make a difference. Did it reduce my shouting. Did it reduce my stress. Did it reduce my guilt. Did it make bedtimes easier. The answer? A resounding “yes” to all of these. Especially yes to reducing the guilt. That may sound strange, but when you talk more, you say more, and if you’re at the end of your tether, it’s easier to let words slip out that are regrettable, that you hope were words that were ignored like so many other words but you can never tell, can you. Three years from now you may have a kid saying, “Remember that time when I was four and a half and you said you wanted to run away and join the circus because at least animals go to sleep when they’re tired”. Not that I’ve ever said that, but you get the idea. Children don’t hear a word that you want them to hear. Children hear things when you think they’re not listening.

I feel I should spell out, though, that this hasn’t meant I have stopped talking altogether. In fact, I don’t think anyone has even actually noticed my reduction in wordiness except for me. More importantly, though, the important things are definitely still said on a daily basis. I love you. I’m so glad you’re with us. I’m so glad I get to be your mummy. 

There are newer snippets that I am trying to work in, too, thanks to my parenting gurus on social media. I’m feeling very frustrated right now so I’m going to do some deep breaths and try to push the wall away. I got so worked up earlier today, but you helped me so much by just being calm next to me so I could take deep breaths and calm down, too. 

And my new personal favourite (from Nurtured First) because I don’t think I’ve been explicit enough in sharing with my girls that I can handle all their emotions (because, to be brutally honest with myself, I don’t deal very well with the bigger emotions) and that I love them always and forever, no matter what: 

I love you when you’re happy. I love you when you’re mad. I love you when you’re silly. I love you when you’re sad.

Weekend Rundown

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When I started this blog (over 4 years ago now! Wild), I had a plan. Of course I had a plan. I was aiming for 3-4 posts a week. A craft that we’d done, something that we’d made in the kitchen, what we had been reading, and hopefully a little reflection of something that had been going on, like a collection of funny things the girls had said, or new milestones like when someone learns to walk or make their own sandwiches. Things evolve, of course. I mean, for starters, the two girls of the blog beginnings have turned into three girls. Reading took a hit for a while. Crafts have also been sporadic. Weekend food prep felt important recently. Work has grown considerably from actually fairly unemployed to working about 40 hours a week. 

Recently, books have come back to be a big part of our lives. To the Me of three years ago with a baby who couldn’t snuggle in for a bedtime story at all and who feared said baby would be well behind when she reached school because she hadn’t had daily stories from you, just chill. Don’t try to force it and she’ll come around. Girls have been having way (I mean, WAAAAYY) too much screen time but that is in the process of being cut considerably, which is going to get its own post soon. This is a big area of life that I am working on. Games and crafts the girls are doing are getting more traction. Snack and some meal element prep is also becoming more of a thing, as work and school and healthy eating are more predominant in our lives. So I thought I might do a weekend rundown post, sharing what has happened when I have 2-3 girls at home with me for 3 days.

So. This weekend felt Big. E had her first proper dancing lessons on Saturday morning, and so I had the first time of taking all three girls for one girl to do dancing. I brought snacks and activities so all was well. The brand new ballet shoes I bought for E at 7.57 for an 8am lesson, though, made it through ballet and the jazz part of jazz and tap but were nicked, for want of a better word, by another girl when they all changed into tap shoes. I am working up to my Private School Mum persona to sort this out. Girls did painting during the day, and watched TV during the middle of the day while I baked, and then we went off to the library. As mentioned in the last books post, C read an entire graphic novel over the course of the afternoon.

Sunday was church, where C learned how to plait yarn and I think I might have a new mum friend maybe. Then, as it was on our way home anyway, we went to the Celtic Festival. It was hot. It was sunny. It was dry. It was pretty, with all the jacarandas in bloom around the place, but I wish they picked a different time of year for this festival. We watched some Irish dancing. We were not there for any highland dancing, which I am starting to really want to start to learn, or have maybe S start. I think it would really suit her. I digress. We had iced teas and the girls turned back to lovely from the cranky pantses they were becoming. I took them home for lunch and the promised ice cream, then back again for the costume competition (very strangely run) and playing in the playground. Needless to say, they were suitably worn out and we had an early dinner. 

Clear blue sky with a swoop of jacaranda trees in purple flowering glory. There are less-glorious trees in the background. A festival is on, with a purple tent top next to the jacarandas as well as other tents and vans, and people milling about.

In all of this, E had found a partially-coloured in dragonfly picture of C’s. I printed her out a different one, which she has been steadily and carefully working on since Sunday evening. It will be a welcome back present for her favourite preschool teacher who had been gone for ages (4 weeks and it has been a long 4 weeks) and was finally back today. I am incredibly impressed with E’s care and skill here, not to mention her commitment to quality. She isn’t speeding it up and doing a rush job or a messy job or an incomplete job. She is working to make this a wonderful picture, no matter how long it takes. It’s beautiful.

How Lucky Am I

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E starts big school next year and had her ‘get to know you’ meeting earlier this month and I can’t help thinking how lucky am I. 

How lucky am I that my girls can be educated. Not just can be, but are expected to be educated. How lucky am I that there is a valid option of free (mostly free) education here. Not just the free of a school that you use as a threat while you do what you have to and scrounge to send your kid to the not-horrible private school, but a state school that you don’t want to move away from, a state school that people move countries to be able to send their kids to. That’s our local. How lucky are we?!

This school has such a smooth entry into prep that my very anxious, only did daycare and preschool 2 days a week, did I mention very anxious? – C just sailed right on in without any dramas. Phew. E had a lovely getting to know you meeting with the guidance counsellor who has known us for, you know, well over two years and who has seen E grow from being two years old and strapped in a pram to being able to say she is four and a half and her favourite story (right now) from the Ultimate Disney Princess Treasury that she made me lug in as her favourite book is Aurora and Aurora’s story is at the back and here she’s getting a smoochy kiss from the prince to wake her up and she was asleep because she didn’t know what a spinning wheel looked like and it hurt her finger and Maleficent (said very clearly and carefully) was the bad fairy and there she is. 

As lovely as this interview was, I was also calmed by knowing that this was not an interview to see if they would consider E as a student. I didn’t have to promote her or coach her beforehand or direct her. There was a box of things in front of her, and she played with the doll a bit then attached building structures together and lined up and sorted little figurines then went to play with the blocks that were set up where she joined all the blue together and kept skipping back to check in and take off her sparkly shoes and pick up the doll again. Meanwhile, the grownups talked openly about neurodiversity and support options and brains and development and stimming. I’m fairly sure at least one, maybe five, members of our family fall into the neurodiverse brain category. Being able to talk about the way E is, not knowing where her brain lies in this, and be offered support and avenues and all with the hue of the more we know, the more we can help/accommodate/support a child, was a relief. A blessing. A comfort. How lucky am I that this didn’t come with any negativity or judgment or pursed lips or we need a diagnosis before anything or sorry. Just acceptance with a view to making it work out the best for everyone. 

How lucky am I that I can look forward to the start of school for her knowing that she will have supportive teachers. Knowing that she will know a few kids – kids from daycare who are also coming, kids from the park – and her best (same age) friend will be with her. How lucky am I that she has been practising with her lunchbox since last summer and that she has a big sister who is VERY keen for her to be with her at school and is telling her all about bits of school like playgrounds and classroom expectations and assembly. 

How lucky am I that I can send her off to school every day from next year knowing that I will see her again in the afternoon. How lucky am I that I can work without fear of a news broadcast while my children are at school. How lucky am I that I will worry, yes, and probably quite a bit, too, about all sorts of things with my E starting school, about behaviour and friends and regulation and friends and following rules and friends and playground dangers but none of those things at all ends with me running to school with no shoes on in fear of what I will find. None of those things ends with me crying with relief that it wasn’t my child or with devastation and heartbreak that it was my child. None of those things ends with me breaking devastating news to anyone, or holding one or more of my children close as we grieve together. None of those things.

How lucky am I that I can hold E close at bedtime and mention that I think she might be a bit nervous about big school and find out, yes, she is, because of one boy in the playground last year who made a rude face at her. How lucky am I that all the problems I foresee – about roughhousing boys and picky girls and teacher expectations – are all things I can predict and talk about and plan around. How lucky am I that fire drills and lockdown drills are going to be “storybooked” for her first, and highly unlikely to happen for real life unless it’s a science experiment gone wrong or a bit of weather. 

There is so much for which I am thankful as we stand at the cusp of this new era. As I look at it as an outsider might, I am astonished – where did these three girls come from? Are they all – mine?! And one of them is already at school and the second one is about to start are you for real?!?! I am amazed and delighted, even though this also comes with a hefty dose of worn out, but I feel I can tell my 20- and 30-year-old selves that THIS is coming up. This chaotic joyful bubbliness that is this life. It happens. It’s here. It’s tremendously hard, yet it fills me to overflowing with happiness and gratitude and delight. 

Mother’s Day 2025

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We’ve just had How Was Your Easter. How was your Mother’s Day is really the next event that has a question posed that expects a positive and glowing rundown.  And while Easter has an expectation that the whole family or friendship group has worked together to make it an amazing four days, Mother’s Day … well, it’s different. How was your Mother’s Day expects pampering; expects sweet cards and pictures; expects the whole family to make mum feel special; chocolates and flowers and fluffy slippers and breakfast in bed.

I think it must be that way only in magazines and dysfunctional families. Not the classic dysfunctional family of split parents or addiction abuse. No, the dysfunctional family of a parent being overwhelmingly controlling to the point that everyone does what they say no matter what.

What a start to a post about Mother’s Day. Sorry. What I mean is, there’s what society puts forward as what should happen, and social media presents as amazing, and then there’s the reality of Family Life. One of my new favourite Instagram accounts shared a video to this effect. Paraphrasing a small part: Breakfast in bed, made by the kids, is meant to make me relax? Thanks, but I will be on high alert as you carry hot liquids up the stairs as I have not known you to go anywhere without spilling anything.

A lot of media brings out the old trope of mums can’t relax because they have to still clean everything because the kids and husband are useless and incapable. That’s getting so old and, quite frankly, offensive. I grew up surrounded by males – a dad, two older brothers and a younger brother. Various levels of weight was pulled at different times for all sorts of reasons, but we all are capable of cooking, cleaning and washing. Modelling is important, and this is not just thanks, mum but also thanks, dad. And I married someone later in life who was so used to doing his own cooking, cleaning and washing that both of us were a bit surprised when I moved in that someone else had done the washing or the cooking or the cleaning. We soon settled into our preferred roles within that, but I knew that when I went into hospital to have babies or because of Covid or because of an explosive postpartum infection that he would be able to keep the place and the children together.

But on a deeper level, that old mum can’t relax because the dad is useless thing just – well, yes. I accept that for some or even many relationships it’s like that. Expectations are important, and mental load for each party is important and not talked about enough. I am getting so sidetracked here. The point is, good relationships are built on love. If I love someone, I will do what I can to help them. If someone loves me, they will do what they can to help me. So yes. On Mother’s Day, I may have the option of putting my feet up a bit more, but I’m not going to be happy lounging around all day while everyone else serves me. 

Also in the real world, more and more people can’t have the whole day as a big family unit. Glenn works in retail. The retail world rarely pauses, and Glenn was working on Sunday. A relaxed breakfast would have had to have started at (doing some quick mental calculations here) um maybe 6am or so, and would not have been at all relaxing for him and therefore me if he had had girls helping him. They’re each becoming quite capable and definitely enthusiastic kitchen helpers but all at once – I know from chaotic experience that that is not going to be a relaxing start to anyone’s day. And Glenn doesn’t need any extra stress in his life, and definitely not when he’s trying to make my day a nice day and definitely definitely not before he has to go to work. Instead, he bought my favourite celebration breakfast (croissants) the day before and I organised the heating up and the cups of tea and the hot chocolates while Glenn and E organised the bandanna-wrapping of my presents.

I’m not sure if everyone is aware of just how sweet young kids can be when giving a present to someone. They are bursting out of their skin with excitement, especially if they are unaware of what’s inside, and also very much so if they DO know what’s inside. Little hands holding a gift up to your nose and saying “Happy Mother’s Day”, or in the case of S, “Happy birthday, mummy” is one of life’s sweet pleasures that I know won’t be forever. Glenn had taken the girls shopping on Saturday afternoon and apparently they were not only beautifully behaved, but also very thoughtful when choosing gifts for me. The big joke was that they would give me a hairdryer. S is in a very black and white phase right now. (“Are you a cheeky chops?” “NO! I’M S!”) After they had shopped, Glenn asked her, “Did we buy mummy a hairdryer?” And she looked at him, utterly bewildered, and shook her head. What planet was he on?! “Is it a nice pink hairdryer for Mother’s Day?” Vigorous shaking of the head. No hairdryer for me, but a number of pampering items as well as crafty things and soft slippers. This is one happy mummy.

We are finally in an era where C is old enough and capable enough and thoughtful enough to pamper me. She was rather fixated in her mind about what was going to happen, and I had to steer/direct her away from having all of us doing day spas with our feet in water in the (carpeted) living room, but we could come around to agreement. She and I stuck our fingers in little dipping pots and our feet in bowls of water on towels in the girls’ room and scrubbed and brushed to our heart’s content while having mummy-daughter chats. This is going to happen more. E came in and did a bit of wild 4yo joining in, and S came in for a cuddle. Later on, S did her own personal day spa in the bedroom and was not quite so careful with the water.

C and E helped me make the red velvet mug cake which we then had for morning tea. Girls watched movies and shows and did jigsaw puzzles and water painting and craft and the day travelled along nicely. We had a FaceTime with my mum (and dad) in which girls were lovely, and didn’t get into mischief in the background, and didn’t bicker in the background, and didn’t go crazy, but engaged in conversation with my parents and were their actual delightful selves and no-one jumped on anyone else’s head this time. 

Glenn didn’t have a whole day at work, and after prepping dinner for me, he had a rest while girls played together (I know!) and, it turns out, independently, as S turned on the water filter with no cup underneath the spout and just watched the water and listened to the sound of the water hitting the tiles until the kitchen floor was mostly covered in water before E went in and I heard “S! What are you DOING!” So yay for responsible big sisters and just enough towels in the cupboard to soak up the flood. This is why you can’t go to the toilet or do ANYTHING with a toddler around. Still, once that was dealt with, I could do some quick sewing (I know!). I was going to gush about the sewing project but it is honestly enough for its own post so suffice it to say that I made a set of placemats and we are back to using a cloth tablecloth. I brought out my special chair so we could all eat together at the table for dinner. My special chair was made by my grandfather, who was a carpenter, and it is beautiful. I explained to the girls (who hadn’t really seen or noticed it before) that it was special for me, and that my grandfather made it. At least three times a day since then, S has relayed to me that my grandpa made it for me. This brings happy tears to my eyes every time, especially as she looks most like his wife, my grandma.

So. Was I brought breakfast in bed and pampered and showered in flowers and able to relax on the sofa all day with beautifully behaved children and surrounded by beautiful extended family all celebrating motherhood? No. Would I ever want that? No. My life is not a magazine photo shoot, or a cartoon, or so self-centred that I want everyone to serve me and coddle me while I have no thought to anyone else’s comfort or wellbeing or mental state or their life at all. That’s not what motherhood is about, so a day where that is what it is made to be is simply hypocrisy. I know that next year or the year after, C will most likely have formed the idea that she must make me breakfast in bed and she must have her sisters help her, but it will be a far less stressful experience for everyone then and the idea of working together will be more important than making the day like a magazine shoot. In the long run, what do we want to remember? The stress of hearing everyone fighting over making your life perfect, or running around after you while they get stressed? No. A kitchen flood brought on by a 2yo experiencing something sensory? Yes, please. A gift that “wasn’t good enough”? Absolutely not, not ever. Cards made with love, unprompted, by children for you that you can keep forever? Oh my goodness me all of the yes. 

As a side note, I am about five days late in posting this. Not that I have a deadline or a real schedule, but there is a limit on how much after Mother’s Day one can post about Mother’s Day. The last few weeks have been wild, with at least three sick people in the family on any given day. I had hardly any voice on Saturday and absolutely none on Sunday. Nights have been unsettled, and dealing with sick children at 2am, 3.40am, 4.08am, 4.26am and 4.58am usually means I don’t wake up in time to do anything before exercising, or that I don’t even wake up to exercise before girls need breakfast. I feel a little bit smashed but here’s to getting back on track, at least for a few days.

Expected and Unexpected Milestones

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There have been a few developments this week. That feels like an understatement but see for yourself.

Glenn had a birthday. No matter how many you have had, I always feel a birthday is special. A celebration of life, of that already lived and that which is to come. This one felt extra special, not from being any particularly special age or any celebration that we did, but from family. The girls were all aware that daddy’s birthday was coming up. E made him a card with all the Frozen stickers she was given for her birthday. C was such a lovely helper on our shopping trip to buy daddy’s birthday presents. And S… this was the first year that she really initiated “happy birthday daddy”. Not just copying others, as she often does, but just randomly in the middle of breakfast. And while he was opening presents. And during dinner. We had these very sweet, very lovely, “happy birthday daddy”s punctuating the day.

Speaking of copying, S has upped her copying. For quite some time – I mean, at least a year, possibly 18 months or so – S has been an excellent mimic. Which has contributed to her being a much more understandable speaker, I think (one of the factors, anyway), but also has made some things extra funny. Like, one of the things of our family is Glenn will stand with his feet apart in the hallway or the kitchen entrance and say, in a Big Daddy Voice, “You’re not getting past here”. E and C will either slip to the side or, more likely, drop and go through the daddy tunnel. S, though, copies his stance and then sometimes copies his Big Daddy Voice herself. Copying does often result in screams and shouts and growls of “STOP COPYING ME” from the other girls but they all do it to each other and to me. At the park on the weekend, though, S took it to the next level. I was pushing her in the swing.

S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum]

Me: What’s in the what?

S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum; looks back at me with a smile. Maybe this is delight at being in the swing]

Me: In the what? The tree?

S: In the what? The tree?

Me: In the tree?

S: In the tree?

Me: The – are you copying me?

S: Are you copying me? [widest possible grin on her face]

Speaking of the park, E can now climb the climbing wall. We hadn’t been to this park for a while. E is cautious by nature. Suddenly, from the swings where I spend most of my park life apparently, I heard big screams. I wasn’t sure if it was the screams of “I’m frustrated” or “I’m hurt”. I got there as fast as I could to hear, “AGH I CAN’T DO IT CAN YOU HELP ME”. Now, I am a big fan of if they can do it, they can do it; if they can’t, let them work out how to do it. That’s great. But also, sometimes, there’s no way they’re going to approach something again if they don’t experience any way of how they can. So I stood behind E and told her I was right there. No good. With her hands and a foot in position, after moving one foot she again screamed, “I CAN’T DO IT”. This time, though – milestone #1 for this experience – I suggested we look at it from below. If you put your hands here and here, then a foot here and a foot here – uh huh – then you could move that foot to there and that foot to there, then— she was at it again. And nailed it. Milestone #2 for this experience. Then she repeated it a bunch of times and I did a Timelapse of her doing it which has S in the background and then she watched the video on repeat for a while and scream-laughed every time but was also SO proud of herself.

Speaking of E, there are a couple of things that switched when she turned four, as she is “A growmup girl now”. Big change #1: no more nighttime nappies. This has not been quite as successful as any of us hoped. Yet she still insists on no nappy, only undies. And she still wakes up during the night (most nights, anyway), very distressed and utterly surprised that she is wet. She must wear a nappy if she is coming into our bed so I put that on over her (fresh, dry) undies. And most mornings, she tells me she has a wee in her nappy, and – oh MAN – wet undies?!?! How did that happen?! Big change #2: no more baths. Showers. Which would be a bit easier for everyone if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of showers. But the first night that she insisted on a shower – so I drained the bath that S had just been in – and then E realised that she is scared of showers so could she have a bath please – and there was no way I was running another bath – quick thinking meant I offered to have a shower with her and now that is what happens every night. Which is, honestly, fantastic. It’s true that I no longer have that few minutes to be on my own and get clean without dodging a slippery child, but having a shower done before 7pm (or so) means that’s another thing ticked off the list of what I have to do. I’m loving it.

Still speaking of E, Glenn took her for a daddy-daughter doctor visit. As in, I wasn’t involved at all, except for booking the appointment. Previously, I’ve always taken them and Glenn has come sometimes and not other times. This worked beautifully! E is such a daddy’s girl right now so needed his comfort when she had her 4-year-old stabs.

Speaking of… Nope. No link for this one, but it is the most grey-hair-inducing. I was walking home with E and S after daycare on Tuesday. In the midst of the most dangerous section – big driveways for big buildings with impatient drivers – S was suddenly climbing out of the pram. She had been securely buckled in. She was no longer securely buckled in. I strapped her back in – which was hilarious, apparently – and tried to keep walking while watching her unbuckle herself again. I gave up. E apparently had tired legs, so she was allowed to get in the pram while S held the pram and walked with me. Wednesday I took her in the stroller (smaller, no storage areas, much harder to push) because I don’t think she has mastered unbuckling that one just yet. She was allowed out to do some walking, and to be fair, she is pretty good at holding on and staying on the side I tell her to stay on. E and C quite enjoy getting a free ride (although they have to take turns) when S is walking, but goodness me the weight difference is noticeable when I’m pushing a nearly-7-year-old up a hill.

Sisters

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Having a second child is such a gamble. Will they get on? Will they fight? Will they support each other? Will they play together nicely? 

From the moment we told C she was going to be a big sister, I haven’t had to worry too much. Her reaction was along the lines of ‘yeah, I knew this was going to happen’ and pretending to play (beautifully) with her imaginary little sister for the next few months until her actual real life little sister came home from the hospital. And that was next level beautiful.

One of my most treasured memories of that first morning at home is having the bassinet next to the dining table, E probably sleeping inside it, C sitting on her chair ‘reading’ Goldilocks to her, very quietly, while the adults all flurried around them. 

Yes, there are times – some days many more than others – when I worry, really worry, about how they are getting on and if we’ll be having an accident or an injured baby or hair pulling or head kicks or something swallowed. 

But then there are other times, and I delight in them and their sisterhood.

Like when C asks if she can please feed E. And does, often far more successfully than I do. She makes sure to alternate food with water. She reciprocates raspberries when E gets happy and starts blowing them. C picks up the dropped spoons and cups and toys, over and over. E has started to do things to make C laugh, like dribbling out water instead of swallowing it and then chuckling.

Or when C sings Twinkle, or Baa Baa Black Sheep, or Wheels on the Bus. And E has started singing back to her or us which is making our musician souls so happy.

Or when I wake up in the morning to giggles and squeak laughs, finding C playing while E is still in the cot. Peekaboo is the best, and passing a squishy mango around, or hanging a sparkly monkey by its tail on the cot rails.

Or when C does a fake sneeze and E starts belly laughing. Repeat for 10+ minutes. (This has been the funniest thing all year for us. It was a new laugh for E, full-bodied and uncontrolled and finding these fake sneezes the funniest thing ever in her life so far.)

And there are other, smaller things. C saying that, actually, E is her best friend. E perking up when she hears C coming up the stairs. C telling me she is loving, really loving, having E doing full days at daycare now. E looking adoringly at C as she sucks down a feed. C getting excited to have a bath with E. E throwing each bath toy in the bath to C and both of them giggling as the fun of bubbles is discovered.

I know there are likely tough teenage years ahead. And it’s not always easy now, especially as E is still fascinated by C’s hair and each is likely to kick the other in the head accidentally. But there is so much in the way they are together that fills me with such joy and delight. I love the way they are being sisters to each other.