Being a parent is the best and most challenging lesson ever

WHEN I gave birth to my kids, a wise old woman told me that every day would be a school day from now on.

She said I’d never stop learning, never stop worrying and would never ever put myself first again.

She also told me it would only get harder, which I smirked at. What could be harder than living in a sleepdeprived state that left me looking and feeling like a monster?

Umm, well, the fact that those nappy-wearing, dribbling gurgly beings with chubby little legs grow up into real people, with real emotions, real thoughts and real opinions does present a whole new world.

If I was tired then, that was nothing to the extreme knackeredness (is that even a word?) I feel most nights now when I crawl into bed, delighting that my pillows and duvet feel like my best friend.

Parenthood is a wonderful journey, taking you to places of real highs and lows, testing you to your very limit, leaving you in positions where you wonder if you are actually getting it right.

And, as they grow up, it definitely gets more challenging.

For a start, you can’t fob them off any more.

When they are little, you totally have the authority.

They want to please you, be with you, and are generally easy to bribe.

You can use little white lies to make them do things you want them to do like: “Go to sleep nice and quickly now and Father Christmas will know you are being a good boy/girl.”

Believe you me, that’s one of the best and could be used all year round.

Now though, with one at 13 and one at nine, I have no hope of trying to pull the wool over their eyes.

They are far too smart for mum to get one over on them with “ridiculous fibs”. It was so good while it lasted. I also have to hide when I use the phone as it’s almost impossible to have an adult conversation without them butting in and wanting to know all the details.

It used to be that no matter how many times I used to tell the kids to “shush” when the phone rang, the very fact I was holding it to my ear and talking was absolutely no deterrent to bothering me.

They didn’t used to care what I was talking about, but would hopefully use the fact I was distracted to ask for a biscuit or another game on the Xbox and I’d nod impatiently just to get a minute’s peace.

Now, though, they hang around when I’m trying to have a conversation.

They stand there prodding me and whispering “who is it?” or “what’s the matter?” or “who said that?” and then demand to know the ins and the outs of what I was talking about as if they have a right to know.

It was far easier to gossip when they were too little to understand what I was saying.

Despite the fact they are more independent, more mature and emotionally stable and happy, I still feel guilty about absolutely everything.

When they looked sadly at the front door when I left for work, reaching out their hands for me to come back, I felt guilty.

If I’d decided to stay at home, rather than return to work, that would have made me feel guilty. When I was finishing off the fish fingers left on their plate, I felt guilty. When it was only 5.30pm and I wished it was bedtime, I’d feel guilty. I thought those feelings of guilt might ease a bit but, somehow, they are even worse now. I will my teenage daughter to feel tired so I can go to bed, which makes me feel guilty.

I have to choose whether to watch a footy game with the boy or miss it so I can be with my daughter. Either way, I feel guilty.

It’s true I keep on learning. Whether it’s what an overload is in football or the importance of “squad goals” for my daughter (which is nothing to do with football may I add) or learning to laugh at myself because I know I’ve turned into my mum, that wise old woman was definitely right.

Parents, keep learning because it’s the best and most challenging lesson ever.

I’m just relieved there are not Sats.