滨听am staring out of the kitchen window one evening in a stupor of sleep deprivation, scrubbing a pan of stubborn, dried-on porridge from breakfast, wearing socks with holes and using my husband鈥檚 belt to hold up the only pair of jeans that remotely fits after two kids, when it slowly dawns on me that I appear to have seriously lost my way on life鈥檚 path of perfection.
Long ago, when I had time for perfectionism, I was the epitome of unfashionably early. I鈥檇 be at bus stops long before it was necessary, carrying an over-sized bag with one extra of everything 鈥� just in case. I even turned up ahead of some of my own wedding guests, cheerily greeting them in the vestry as they sheepishly scurried in.
Two children later, the only events on my calendar are medical checkups and playdates 鈥� the attendance of which requires military planning, considerable toddler negotiation and a great deal of deep breathing and silent screams into the sleeve of my arm.
Having gathered everything and everyone together, I invariably tumble out of the door with more bags than I have limbs, placating the mews of at least one child, hair hastily gathered up using my daughter鈥檚 elastic into a 鈥榤ake-do鈥� rather than a hair do, with a splash of spit-up somewhere for good measure.
We reach the car and I bite my lip as my eldest wilfully insists that she strap herself in 鈥� applauding her independence but ruing the time she has chosen to exert it.
Once clipped in, the engine starts, wheels turn and we鈥檙e on our way. I breathe a deep, satisfied sigh and dare to think that if the traffic lights are on our side, we might yet make it on time.
And then stop.
More mews from the back. We forgot something.
I dash back inside and up-end everything on a bed, duvet and pillows included, searching for my eldest鈥檚 much-loved blanket which she is steadfastly adamant we cannot leave without. All the while, the clock is ticking and I鈥檓 mentally calculating just how late is acceptable with the dentist.
This demonstration of timekeeping would never have been acceptable to me, pre-kids. However, as another mom put it: I used to be a perfectionist, but I鈥檓 operating at a solid 60 per cent now.
So, of which 40 per cent should I let go? Feeding and clothing seem fairly non-negotiable. Ditto for remembering all the birthdays for both sides of the family. And if we don鈥檛 mow the lawn soon, I鈥檓 likely to lose my youngest in it. As for the brambles in the garden, they unnervingly inch closer to the house like triffids every time my back is turned, so I鈥檓 inclined to stick with my eradication efforts.
That leaves cleaning and tidying. I could potentially scrub the toilets in between nursing, changing diapers and making dinner, or dust around the little ones while they鈥檙e occupied but, to tell you the truth, I鈥檓 feeling just a little bit utterly exhausted and I just can鈥檛 be bothered. I鈥檇 much rather roll around with the kids on the floor than vacuum it.聽
So I鈥檓 OK that we鈥檙e still unpacking boxes after moving six weeks ago and that my shoe cupboard is a complete calamity. It鈥檚 鈥渓ived-in,鈥� I say to guests. Just as long as we know where the favourite blanket is among the piles of paperwork and laundry, then nothing 鈥� and no one 鈥� will fall apart.
