Back in the days when the thought of actually attending a 9 a.m. lecture at university seemed utterly impossible—because, let’s be honest, 9 a.m. felt like the middle of the night—I used to imagine myself as the perfect parent. Back then, I could get dressed, leave the house on a whim, and enjoy a full day without a care. I thought parenting would come naturally to me. I thought I had it all figured out. That illusion, of course, shattered the moment I actually became a parent. Because the reality? Oh, it’s a whole lot harder than I ever imagined.
During my first pregnancy, my husband and I made grand plans. Our child would only watch one hour of TV a day. Ha! Fast forward a few months, and Peppa Pig basically became our third child. We swore we’d never be the parents handing over a phone in a restaurant just to keep a kid quiet. Ah, the sweet innocence of denial. We imagined our toddler sitting perfectly still in a high chair while we enjoyed a peaceful dinner. Reality check: toddlers love nothing more than screaming in public and testing the limits of physics while trying to Houdini their way out of every strap. Sometimes, letting them watch other children play with Play-Doh on YouTube is literally the only way to survive a meltdown of epic proportions and dodge the death stares of other diners.
I thought I knew what parenting would be like. After all, I had worked with babies and toddlers for years—how different could it really be? But nothing, and I mean nothing, can prepare you for life with two children under two. Surviving on three hours of sleep, relying on chocolate digestives and coffee to make it through the day, and constantly juggling chaos—it’s a level of exhaustion you just can’t comprehend until you live it.
After giving birth to my daughter, I was a bundle of nerves and anxiety. Every decision felt monumental. I second-guessed everything—from feeding to sleeping routines—because I wanted to give this tiny human the absolute best. I never felt, and sometimes still don’t feel, like I’m enough. Postpartum was, without a doubt, the most magical time of my life, but also the hardest. Sleepless nights fueled by intrusive thoughts, overwhelming anxiety, a sense of lost identity, and the feeling of being nothing more than a milk machine—it was intense. How could I feel so happy and content yet completely unsure of myself at the same time?
When my daughter turned a year and a half, our son arrived, and the newborn experience felt entirely different. The first child turns your life upside down; the second just finds a way to fit into the chaos you’re already navigating. Managing a double pram while juggling two children who refuse to walk in stores? Next-level stress. And somewhere along the way, the calm, collected mother I imagined myself being was replaced by a stressed, sweaty, shouty mama in leggings, smudged with baby sick and leftover bits of a meal my toddler demanded and promptly threw on the floor.
Every single day, I realize more and more that everyone is just getting by. Every parent you see on Instagram with a picture-perfect life? They still battle morning tantrums, exhaustion, and moments of complete defeat. No one has it perfectly together.
Even with the chaos, the sleepless nights, and the endless mess, I know these are the days my heart will ache for when my children grow up. Time is flying, faster than I ever imagined, and it’s so easy to get lost in stress and perfectionism. But when I look at them, I know this: they are my everything, just as I am theirs.
Perfect parents don’t exist. Raising tiny humans is hard. And sometimes, it’s okay to put dry shampoo in your hair for the third day in a row, give your child chocolate buttons for five minutes of silence, or scroll through your phone during nap time instead of folding laundry. We’re doing our best, and that’s more than enough.
