Confessions of a guilty Mammy...

Dear Kids,

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while but I’ve been a bit overwhelmed at the thoughts of it. I keep hearing about new things that I need to add, so the longer I put it off, the worse it’s going to get. So here goes. 

I’m sorry I don’t always make healthy and nutritious dinners. Sometimes I’m just really tired after a long day and the thoughts of slaving over a hot cooker only to have the food thrown in the bin anyway is just too much. Frozen pizza it is.

I’m sorry for making you upset because I tried to force you to taste broccoli/kale/chickpeas/quinoa. I know you don’t want to try it and that you think it smells funny. But I’ve been told you’re going to have brittle bones or scurvey or rickets or whatever if you don’t start eating properly. 

I’m sorry I let you sleep in my bed. I know we both love the cuddles but I’m turning you into a weirdo who’s going to have OTT attachment issues to me. You won’t still want to share my bed when you’re 18, right?

I’m sorry I told you to go back to your own bed when you woke during the night and came in on top of me. I’ve traumatised you and made you feel like I don’t love you, haven’t I?

I’m sorry I’m breastfeeding you even though you’re two now. I know the World Health Organisation recommends it, and I know you still want to feed, but I’ve been told I’m turning you into a weirdo and that you’ll be a freak and that I’m a freak. Are we?

I’m sorry I don’t have a full time job. I know that I should be setting a good example of what it is to have it all, but I quit full time work to take care of you at home. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I have to work so much during the day sometimes. I know you like spending time with me and get frustrated when I have to focus on my laptop or answer a business call. But we need the money. For wine. 

I’m sorry that I let you play with the iPad sometimes. It’s rotting your brain. I know. But for some inexplicable reason you love watching other kids open Kinder eggs and it allows me to get shit done for half an hour.

I’m sorry I regularly lie to you. The latest one being that YouTube only works on daddy’s phone. Hands off mine please.

I’m sorry I don’t do more arts and crafts with you and that sometimes I hide the Play Doh because I can’t be bothered picking it out of every crevice, including sometimes your ears and hair.

I’m sorry I let you swallow the toothpaste on a regular basis. I really should teach you how to spit it out but at that time of the night, I’d probably let you eat the entire tube if you wanted to.

I'm sorry that bath night has dropped to one night a week. You smell lovely, I promise.

I’m sorry I don’t teach you how to clean up after yourself properly. The house is constantly trashed and I’m constantly picking stuff up after you. I should insist you help so that you grow up to be a tidy, well-adjusted adult, unlike me. 

I’m sorry I don’t have a naughty step or a time out corner or wooden spoon. I’ve been told I’m spoiling you and that you will turn into a spoiled brat with no boundaries.

I’m sorry I laugh at your burps and farts, that we replace words in nursery rhymes with rude ones, just for giggles - I’m teaching you bad manners. Eek.

Basically, I’m ruining you. Breaking you. I’m your parent and you’re the future. I’m failing you in so many ways but please know that I love you and that I’m tired. I’ll try harder tomorrow. 

Lots of love,

Mammy.