In her column, Tracy shares experiences and lessons learnt as she navigates life and grows with her two boys. To share your views email Tracy on [email protected]
Before I became a mother, I had rules. When my first son was born seven years ago, I had all the rules. No unnecessary screen time. No eating food that touched the floor, no dirt, no jumping on furniture, no snacks before dinner, no sleeping in our bed. No exceptions!
I was determined to be one of those organised mothers who followed the parenting books, maintained boundaries and raised children according to carefully thought-out principles. Then I had my second child. And somewhere between survival and experience, those principles quietly packed their bags and left.
My two-year-old is living a completely different childhood to the one his older brother had. The other day I watched him pick up a biscuit he had dropped on the floor. Not immediately. Not even within a reasonable timeframe. It had been there for a while. Long enough for me to notice it. Long enough for me to consider picking it up. Long enough for me to decide I was too tired to care.
He picked it up, inspected it briefly and popped it into his mouth.Seven-years-ago me would have gasped. Current me simply shrugged and carried on making supper. Character building, I told myself. When my eldest was little, I sanitised everything. Pacifier falls on the floor? Straight into boiling water. Toy touches the ground at the shopping centre? Practically contaminated forever.
