This interpretation of my children’s toileting accidents is totally skewed. I can see that now (like, super obvious), but when you’re only getting up to four hours of broken sleep a night and manically surviving each day minute by stinking minute, logic kind of slips away.
Like that moment when you text your brother a photo while changing your newborn’s nappy, just to demonstrate the bizarre requirements of your new job. (Tell me I’m not the only one who’s done this.)
Then he texts straight back to say “I am deleting this right now and please don’t send any more nude photos of your kids ever.” Fair call, bro. Logic escaped me for a second.
So when that sleep deprivation accumulates over two, five or maybe seven years, it really warps your perception in stressful situations. My brain no longer offered reasonable explanations such as: my preschooler probably got stuck up high on the playgym, then realised he couldn’t get down to ask to go to the toilet, and had an accident.
No way, my brain was all like: this child hates me so much he not only climbed up high to get away from me, but also curated the grossest mess possible so I would be forced to extract him, clean him up and change his clothes at the very moment my coffee has arrived.
In hindsight, that is utter madness. So here I go, reframing the past by trawling over all the early parenthood memories I hoped to block out completely.
Hopefully I’ll discover more than one scenario in which my brain made me feel like the worst mum at the time, yet hindsight may offer a kinder interpretation.
Also there may be some toilet humour. Just a little.
Anna Rose is a follower of Jesus and mother of three children. She shares a love of learning with her kids and is still growing each day.
