This homemaker is making a happy home, not a show home

I can't remember when I last washed the floors. There is a load of wet washing that I literally just remembered, now, at 12:46 am when I have just climbed into bed, but so cannot be bothered to traipse downstairs in the dark to attend to. One, because - fuck that, and two, because half of the lights are out in this house. Like permanently out. They all pertain to the hallways too.

The landing one doesn't work for a reason I can't remember (I'm developing a theme here), and the stairs one is just a moody bastard. The hallway one had a bit of a mishap, when husband forgot the tap was running in the bathroom and we had a bit of an indoor water feature for a short while. We disarmed that one as Miniman has a penchant for lighting the house up like Blackpool.

Wait. Blackpool probably doesn't work as a reference too well, here with the American audience... If you are American... replace Blackpool with "any-street-in-America-in-the-run-up-to-Christmas. Sorted. While we are correcting ourselves... Miniman is no more! For one, holy fuck, he's grown enormous, and two, there's another one in the fold. A very small one, but rapidly growing. We have become five, and us mortal parents are now outnumbered.

Back to lighting for a brief moment... God damn bollocks. I have just remembered that when I unloaded the diapers/nappies and brought them upstairs for folding early this evening... I left the god damn poxy lights on! Oops. Of course the lights that DO work would be the ones in the third of the house that we barely use. Fuck it. I'm still not traipsing down there.

So I know I have time to be blogging and it's now 12:56 am, so I could be getting some of this shizzle done, but I'm comfy. Why aren't I sleeping? Remember the aforementioned dinky dude (aha! That could be his handle...)? Well, he has a penchant for waking every three hours to attack me in the general chest area, then spit a healthy portion of it back over me, grump at me until he is donned in a nice dry diaper... and then poo in it. So to counteract the falling asleep and being woken torture, I'm waiting it out for him to wake as there is no point sleeping now. He was due to wake at 12. Go figure...

Half the time I feel I have forgotten what sleep is. Damn I need to work on my memory. Things I do remember though! I cleaned up the living room, and managed to wipe the bathrooms down this past week. I made it into the dining room and cleared the table and managed to wipe it. I forgot to go and get the old toothbrush and scrub the groove that house half of a playdoh factory, though. Again. I managed to vacuum. Things looked quite nice, and tidy. Downstairs anyway. Sure, sure. I say to myself. I'll get to upstairs soon. However, time ran out and the day was over... and I woke to do it all again.

Kitchen. Living room. Dining room. Remember laundry. Remember laundry is in the machine. Remember I ever did laundry. Add feed/hug/burp/change baby sporadically in there and that was the day full, and still I am not on top of the housework.

It was bugging me. This is my third rodeo. I've had babies before. I've had babies AND a tidy home before. Without another grown human living with me. Hell, I've had babies, a tidy home AND gone out to work or study every day. So what the actual heck is happening (or not happening, as it were), this time around? Why can't I get on top of everything?

Then it dawned on me. This house is what happened. When Mini Madam was a baby, I lived in a flat that is the size of my main level. Now, I have THREE levels. Of course it isn't going to be immaculate all the time. I also have three kids, and the word kids doesn't belong in the same sentence as the word tidy (apart from this one, clearly). That, and it's the height of the summer holiday and there is no school. You know what else? This baby is my last. The state of the playdoh encrusted table isn't going to change, Mini man is going to pee anywhere but the toilet again within five minutes of me cleaning it anyway, and husband is going to annihilate the kitchen upon his return from work (I know I am lucky he cooks...). These are constants in my life as I know it right now.

What isn't a constant is my baby. In six weeks alone, he has changed so much. I'm just going to be the one in the corner cherishing him, trying to take it all in just one last time. The dust, laundry and dodgy lighting can wait. There was a poem, Babies Don't Keep, by Ruth Hamilton, my mum used to say a phrase from.

"The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep."

So, yep. I might forget that the laundry needs doing, or the floor hasn't been cleaned in over a week. But I won't forget the memories I am making with not just my baby boy, but his brother and sister, too. So if you happen to pop by and see my house isn't quite the show home I so wish it could be, don't worry. Nothing's wrong. I am still a homemaker. I just decided to let it go and make a happy home, not a show home.

Footnote: I finished writing at 1:30am and that little bugger still hasn't woken up! The law of luck would suggest this to be the first time he sleeps through the night...

 

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