When Norway and I were together the subject of children often came up, as you would expect given he has two. As the months went by and things between us intensified I found myself wondering could I be a step mother? Seriously? I loved Norway’s children before I’d ever met them, and through discussion and intense debates (aka, mental foreplay) my influence on him was having a direct influence on them. Eventually I was convinced that not only would I be a good step mother, I would rock it as the coolest third parent those little Nordic babies could ever have! Being step mother of the year would be the easy part, convincing Norway to be a father again (you know, a kid we didn’t have share with his ex-wife) would prove much harder. So difficult in fact, in broke us.
“If I were to have another kid, I would want to do that with you, but I don’t want any more children.” It was liked being stroked and slapped at the same time.
This week, I’m at J3’s house in the country. I was meant to be here for three days (am currently on day eight) but sprained my ankle and cannot get to toilet without crutches – more on this later. Normally when I go to stay at J3’s he goes to work all day, and I hit the road (The Great Ocean Road) and rack up a little shutter time, just me and my Cannon 7D. This trip though something is different. This time I have a puppy that is all of 11 weeks old, is fed three times a day, and has never met a dog that didn’t give birth to her. Thus I decided in all my maternal wisdom, that it would be best to stay in, read a little and watch over the kids. Heck, it would be a nice relaxing mini break in the country, and I’d get laid. Great plan, right?
Being stuck in the country, alone all day, for days, without broadband, without the use of one leg, with Bailey (his dog) and Annie (my baby) has bought home a few truths for me this week, and confirmed (like a siren confirms the giant red fire truck in the rear vision mirror) some ideas I already thought possible. Firstly, I would lose my mind if I ever stopped working! I must, I need (I cry and become massively hyper-sensitive if I don’t get) to work. Secondly, my children will the ones pushing their mother away all the time yelling, “Mum, stop hugging me, it’s embarrassing,” because isolation drives me to over compensate. And (note: I will deny this to him until the day I die) Norway may not have been as big of a jerk as I thought. I may have rocked it as the coolest step mum ever (CSME), but balancing that with being a mum, is where it gets a bit dicey.
When J3 and I started ‘dating’ again (BA-Before Annie), I began to feel sorry for most single dads. At my house it was just us, the house was clean and curling up on the couch involved two bodies, three cushions and a TV. At his place I not only had to share attention, I also shared the couch and the bed, and quite often the bathroom, with a 25kg snoring cannon ball. But in time he grew on me. (Especially after I broke him of the need to lick every inch of clothing and face he could access no matter how annoyed the lickee got.) He keeps the bed warm after J3 goes to work in the morning, and the snoring (just like his dad), along with magpie songs and the odd rooster crow, has become part of the soundscape to a cozzy afternoon in the country. When I would go home to the big house in the big city, I missed big Bailey. I loved the lug more than I loved the lad. So, when I got a puppy all of my own (aka Annie) it was vital Bailey loved the baby.
For the most part I got my wish. Bailey and Annie had been great together all week. We have our smaller issues, who is getting more cuddles, piss off I’m tired, and tug- of-war over Teddy until there was no bear in there. In general it’s fun, games and the odd nip on the butt when you’re not getting enough of their attention. A lot like J3 and me. I was rocking it. CSME! Until today. Today, despite knowing better, despite us working on it all week, despite been given a biscuit when Annie gets her meals (she gets fed three times a day, Bailey just once) so there’s no jealousy. Bailey bullied Annie away from her bowl, and hoovered down her lunch. Not for the first time. Bailey wasn’t even allowed in that room anymore, because Annie would spend more time looking over her shoulder than eating her dinner. This time though, I couldn’t just throw him out and top up her bowl. That was it. The last of the puppy food until J3 got home from work. The last of the food she can eat without getting sick. My baby’s lunch. I’d already chased him away from her breakfast. Suddenly, not the CSME, suddenly am pissed off mum out of patience with bad Bailey. I grabbed him by the collar, dragged him across the living room. I hobbled along with a sprained ankle barely off crutches while puppy food bits fell from Bailey’s mouth. We got to the door and with my other hand on his backside, I threw him out into the yard and slammed the door. Bailey barked, I flicked the lock. He ran to the front door and started scratching, ran to the window and started howling, went back to the back door and scratched, barked and howled. Annie got scared, I gave her leftover chicken. It made me wonder, if Norway’s kids had bullied our babies would I have thrown them out and locked the door too? Hardly CMSE.
Annie is now obsessed with chicken.
Note: Norway’s response to this is that his daughters are perfect, kind-hearted, beautiful angels that would never bully anyone, therefore would never get thrown into the backyard. Yes, dear.
