Flo and Archie are four months and three weeks old and time is just flying past. This past week, under cover of seemingly innocuous smiling, sleeping and googoo gaagaa-ing, they have been busy hot-housing. Unbeknownst to me, they have enrolled in a novelty circus act for very small wriggly people, in which they roll incessantly in every conceivable direction – off their play mat, onto the floor, onto toys but mainly onto each other. Mini completer-finishers they are not so the glee of initial accomplishment is rapidly followed by puce-faced rage as they realize they are stuck, tiny arms simply too puny to bear their weight or turn themselves over. With faces planted firmly in the floor, they proceed to vent their fury at multiple decibels until rescued by yours truly. I look them in the eye, advise them soundly with a helpful “now this is just getting silly”, at which point they smile and then repeat the trick ad infinitum. Meanwhile, we’re having some cracking vowel-sound conversations and Flo’s taught herself bubble-blowing which is nice, if messy.
Evie is having her own adventure as she prepares to leave the happy, loving arms of her nursery and start the transition to our village primary school this September. A fantastic welcome meeting for parents reassures us of the nurturing environment she’ll be entering and we’re asked to commit our hopes for our children to paper, which we’ll revisit in a year’s time. In the Q&A session with the class teacher, there’s much questioning about how much sport the children will play and I already fear the parents’ race at sports day next summer. Must get fit.
I realise my blog’s been a tad gloomy to date. Sorry about that – I think I’ve tended to post on tough days when writing has served as therapy. I wouldn’t want you to think for a minute that I’m not enjoying this new parenting lark. I know I’ve probably over-focussed on the tougher aspects of raising twins but it’s because there are a fair few of those and they knock me for six at times, plus I need bucketloads of sympathy. At times when I’m struggling, woeful posts on my beloved facebook trigger a mass of wonderful virtual hugs from friends far and near that lift my spirits no end. Challenges aside - the fun bits are plentiful and heart-warming but I’ve tried not to bang on about that stuff because everyone hates smug parents with cloying tales of prodigal offspring. Bearing that in mind, you’ll be pleased to know that these last few weeks I’ve been feeling much more chipper, less knackered and dare I say it, HAPPY.
The cause of this epiphany is something I vowed not to do til September. Yep, strike me down but I’ve been doing some WORK. Now don’t judge me, I know the babies are still very young and I should be devoting each waking moment to their every need BUT in my humble opinion, all play and no work makes mummy a terribly dull and ever-so-slightly resentful old bag. So, I’ve been researching and prospecting for my fledgling PR outfit and have unashamedly enjoyed every minute of it. Daddy and Nanny daycare step in to play Mum while I network with some great local businesses. As initial meetings lead to further meetings, I feel my horizons widen and get a glimpse of what I’ve wanted to do since we moved here two years ago - use everything I’ve learned in my career so far to run my own business promoting the brilliant ‘hidden gem’ companies on my doorstep. A local glossy mag gets in touch wanting to feature our ‘escape to the country’ story, then out of the blue comes a request to work on a really exciting pitch. I jump at the opportunity to dust off the grey matter and get the adrenaline pumping. Despite some late night keyboard-bashing, it’s SO good to feel the pleasant pressure of a looming deadline instead of clock-watching for the next round of feeds.
This unexpected but very welcome spurt of industry makes me feel like a new woman. I bounce back to my family with new relish, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the realization that in every aspect of my life, it’s a time of new beginnings.