I’m a parent. My husband’s a parent. Our kids are kids.
If you come to our house with your children, I don’t want to hear you apologise for any of the following:
1. Noise/screaming/shouting/crying. If your kids can out-noise my kids, I owe you wine – and a whole lot of respect.
2. Messy toys. I might have a small breakdown after you leave because MESS but please, my boys have a degree in mess. And once you have one kid making mess, you might as well be sat in a primary school classroom during free-play time.
3. Needing to breastfeed. I mean…literally, what? Feed that baby wherever, whenever. Make yourself at home. Kick your shoes off. Don’t go to the toilet to do it. Lay on our bed, on the sofa, in the spare room – just wherever that baby is chilled. And PUR-LEASE don’t excuse yourself because of my kids or husband. We’ve done two lots of breastfeeding as a family and boobs don’t offend us. If you want privacy then obvs, cool. Otherwise – go ahead, babe.
4. Your kids saying they’re hungry or asking me for something to eat. Kids have no fear, filter or preconceived idea of what is acceptable to society (or what we think is polite). If I’m feeding my kids, I’ll be feeding your kids. If it’s in the cupboard, they can have it. If they want it and you say they’re allowed it, it’s theirs. If you pay attention, you’ll notice my kids will have asked for food once every 0.04 seconds the entire time you’ve been here.
5. Your child not finishing food I’ve given them. My kids don’t even finish the food I’ve given them and I’m used to cooking seven course taster menus because my boys can’t decide what they want to eat. Just chuck the leftovers. Unless it’s chicken nuggets, then I’ll have them.
6. Food mess. I won’t lie, this one stings me a little but only because I’ve got leftover food phobia. But please, no apologies for this one. I found a bogey on my wall today so your child’s broken biscuit on the floor is light work.
7. Your kids being brats. ALL KIDS ARE BRATS AT ONE POINT OR ANOTHER. Not one single exception. I’m not judging you based on your child having a breakdown because I’ve already negotiated with my own two tiny terrorists eighteen times before you’ve arrived and I actually find a lot of comfort knowing that you have to deal with this crap, too. Misery loves company, babe.
8. Your kids needing a nap. We’ve got sofas, beds, cushions, beanbags, chairs and a whooooole lotta floor. Don’t up and leave because your kids want a nap (unless you’re sick of my kids and can’t wait to find an excuse to leave). Plonk your child down anywhere, throw a blanket on them and go back to your coffee. We’re napping experts in this house.
9. Your kids not wanting to hug/kiss/talk to me. We are working on consent at every. darn. opportunity in this house. If your little babe doesn’t wanna show me affection, please don’t force it or apologise. I’ve been rejected by worse than a five year old and I’ve already kissed a few snotty faces today so keeping my bodily fluid transfer rate down will probably do me some good.
10. Nappies. Changing. Poo. Wee accidents. Anything to do with natural bodily functions. After two kids I can barely control my own bladder so I’ll be damned if I’m judging a two year old on their ability to do so. We’re a family house. We don’t have a nappy bin, we have a bin, bin. We have nappies, wipes, spare pants and a lot of cleaning products. Whatever the disaster, we will cope.
If you’re invited to our house, you’re invited with your children. And your children come with mess and spillages and accidents and unfiltered mouths…
…just like ours do.❤️