New Mummy Blog: Things I Hide From My Kids
They’re still only tiny but I try to be pretty open and honest with my children. I want them to grow up able to express themselves and how they feel comfortably and confidently. If they ask a tricky question, I’ll try and answer it.
That being said, I’ve realised there’s actually an awful lot of stuff I hide from my kids. I’m spending more and more time engaging in subterfuge and doing that spelling-it-out speak you have to adopt around bat-eared toddlers. Toddlers who’ll ignore you, with perfect poker face, when you say it’s bath time but funnily enough will hear the slightest rustle of a wrapper or the quietest chew of a cake when you’re trying to eat out of earshot.
A cake that didn’t get away [Copyright Yahoo/Claire Sparks]
Which brings me to first on my list of things I hide from my children:
Chocolate
And it’s often theirs. Yes, it’s true. I steal my children’s chocolate when they’re in bed. Is this despicable mother territory? It’s just that they’re only one and two and I don’t really want them eating much chocolate if I can help it. Yet they keep being given it by well-meaning friends and relatives.
So actually, I’m doing them a favour by eating it for them. It’s just that they wouldn’t see it like that.
Juice
I have kept the fact that juice exists hidden from my kids. So far, they think water and milk are the only thirst quenchers around because they’re the only ones they get. I’ve heard too many horror stories about juice wrecking milk teeth, I’m dragging this one out for as long as I can.
Tears
I don’t want my kids to see me cry. I want them to think I’m strong, invincible even, for as long as I can get away with it. Being a naturally teary person, at least since kids, this has led to some “Mummy’s just facing the wall for a sec, I’ll turn round in just a minute” moments. Which probably isn’t doing much for my superhero image either.
That I hate goodbyes too
The nursery drop off. It kills me every time. Even though most mornings she trots off happily, lured by the promise of toast and a new Happyland toy to see, it still breaks my heart a tiny bit.
When I’m popping to the shops
The toddler loves coming with me, probably because she knows she can talk me into buying her an insanely expensive princess-themed magazine that has sparkly plastic tat - sorry, I mean a free gift - stuck to the front and sucker written in invisible ink across the top.
But when she comes with me, as well as making the bill greater, she also makes the time spent there much longer. And so, when I need to nip out to grab some milk and want to leave her behind with her daddy, I have to do it when she’s not looking.
My tattoo
I was 17, I was silly and reckless and didn’t even plan it in advance. A friend and I just popped in to a tattoo parlour on a whim and got one as a laugh.
Yep. I’m not laughing now.
Luckily it’s in a well hidden area but there’s still an extremely high chance my children will spot it eventually. And I’m not looking forward to when they do. Yes, they’re young now, but it’ll come back and bite me, I know it. When it comes to undermining my parental authority (“you can’t get that piercing/inking/whatever; you’ll regret it when you’re older” and so on) I’m handing them ammunition on a plate. If only someone could have warned me at 17 that I’d regret it.
Oh yeah, my (very much non-tattooed) mum did warn me. I didn’t listen, of course.
