What I Wish I’d Known Before I Had Children
By Tracy Enright
Everyone is very fond of telling you having children will change your life. Some are positive and say you’ll see everything from a different perspective, you’d be more fulfilled as a woman (yep, someone went there) and you’d feel well of love deep enough to make you cry sometimes. Others are a little more negative and talk of ruined figures and non-existent social lives in doom-laden tones.
What they don’t tell you is the concept of personal will become so unfamiliar you’ll need to consult a dictionary when someone mentions the word.
Personal space no longer exists.
Small children have no idea about personal space. Whether you’re sitting on the loo, trying to shower or pretty much any other activity, there is no escape. There’s always a question, whether it’s “Mum, where are you?”, “Mum, where is…?”, “Mum, can you…?” and it’s a question that cannot be asked through a closed door. And forget them waiting until you’ve finished. They do more than ask questions though.
You get a warm feeling when they want to show you their latest drawing or something interesting they’ve found (which is probably sticky, dead, or both), but I just wish they wouldn’t work on the principle the more you need to see it the closer it has to be to your eyeball (sorry ex-frog, I’m sure you were lovely really). I’ve been thankful I wear glasses on more than one occasion.
You can’t even escape at night; it will be a long time before you sleep alone. It can be a shock the first few hundred times you wake up to find a hopped-up kangaroo, cunningly disguised as an angelic-looking toddler, adding bruises to your already bruised legs. On the upside, they make good environmentally-friendly hot water bottles on a chilly night.
Personal information becomes very unpersonal.
A child will reveal your deepest secrets at the most unexpected and inconvenient times. It could be a small boy pulling an unused sanitary towel out of your bag (well, what else can he explore when he’s confined to a supermarket trolley?), and waving it in the air whilst demanding, at the top of his voice, “What’s this for, Mummy?” (I just wish he hadn’t done it by the fish counter).
Or, it could be a girl kindly informing random shop staff her mummy is really old because she just turned 48. (This was followed a few days later by her brother telling me I should take up knitting and crochet because they were old lady things to do. He then compounded the sin by showing me where the wool was).
I don’t even want to think about the time I had a stomach upset since bowel movements seem to be the go-to topic for conversation regardless of location or company.
Personal property is communal
When you live with someone, it’s more or less taken for granted you may end up sharing some things, like socks, toothpaste or bed space, but it’s all done through cooperation and compromise. When you have children? Nothing is sacred.
My makeup regularly gets plundered for use on dolls, ponies and parents, no matter where, or how high, I hide it away. My nice “grown-up” pens are the ONLY ones in the house with the artistic characteristics needed to draw another T-Rex, which is why they now seem to live under the settee (the pens, not the T-Rexes).
As for food? Raccoons have nothing on small children. It can range from the subtle disappearance of items from your plate if you leave the table for a few seconds to the more blatant pushing you aside to reach the carrots on your plate so unfairly. I’ve even got a gravy-napper who, given half a chance, will make off with the entire jug.
In any relationship, you share at least some aspects of your life, but you still have little part just for you, whether it’s time, space or belongings. Before you have your first child, you have this naive idea you’ll get to share kisses and cuddles and important milestones like their first word. You’ll experience their never-ending curiosity and wonder about this big new world they’ve found themselves in, even if it is vicariously.
In reality?
The concept of personal has left, moved out, fled the nest and you’d better get used to the embarrassment of your innermost secrets being shared with the world, because it will happen and the embarrassment all be yours.
Just never give them a social media account.
With thanks to Justine Salles and Silvia Haubert
