There was a time, when I first became a mother, that I felt I had to be superwoman. I was determined to do everything, and do it perfectly. It wasnt long before I gave up, and I certianly dont miss that time.
Ive never had a really tidy, really clean house. I tend to keep it in just respectable condition. Relatively tidy, mostly clean, a few jobs here and there to do. I cannot remember it ever being completely in tip-top condition, it just never gets there. Sometimes I feel a little sad or frustrated at this, that what I am aiming for when I do housework is never completely achieved, but most of the time I feel OK about it. Its comfortable, it looks alright, theres nothing unsafe or too germy.
I found this poem recently in a local tots magazine, and I plan to frame it and display it somewhere suitable to remind myself when I am despairing over the never ending washing pile, that there are much more important things in life:
I hope my children look back on today,
And see a parent who had time to play,
Children grow up while you’re not looking,
There’ll be years ahead for cleaning and cooking,
So quiet now, cobwebs, dust go to sleep,
I’m rocking my baby, and babies dont keep.
My child may now be 3, but he is still my baby, and that means that spending time with him is more important than keeping a spotless house. So I try not to feel too guilty that I havent hoovered this week, or that I cant really be bothered putting the toys away this time, or that kitchen wall I started painting last month still isn’t finished.
Babies dont keep. Nor do toddlers. Neither do teenagers for that matter. In fact when J is 30, he will still be my baby.