I think I did my best as a mother. Having never held a baby before producing my own, I threw myself into raising our twin boys - and then a daughter - by muddling along as most women do.
I am proud of our children. The fact that our 19-year-old sons are enjoying their independent lives suggests that things have turned out pretty well. However, with the benefit of hindsight, would I do anything differently? Of course I would…
I wouldn’t bow to peer pressure
My sons grew up in the era of frenzied extra-curricular activity. Every other child I knew was pinged off to various after-school clubs and activities and I felt I was falling short of the mark on this score. ‘So, what do your kids do out of school?’ an acquaintance once asked. ‘Nothing?’ And it put the fear in me.
In fact, my boys did plenty: playing in the garden, wading in rivers, returning home from the park plastered in mud and leaves. They enjoyed messing around, being left pretty much to their own devices – a free-form sort of life suited them.
However, bowing to peer pressure, I signed up my boys for football, karate and gymnastics – none of which particularly interested them. Plus, all the rushing around and finding the correct kit resulted in me shouting quite a lot.
Given the chance to do it all again, I’d happily let my kids spend long Summer’s days burrowing for worms in the garden. Early childhood lasts for, what – eight years max? A tiny fraction of a lifespan. So why not let them do whatever they want?
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I’d get my act together
On the other hand, given a second chance, I’d adopt a more orderly, organised approach.
I don’t mean running my home like the army; just that I’d get everyone up in good time for school/nursery, and plan ahead instead of haring to the supermarket at 5.30 pm because there was nothing in for tea.
It took me a long time to click into motherhood and understand that there was nothing ‘square’ or ‘boring’ about running things in a semi-organised fashion.
As it was, I favoured a relaxed, ‘hey, whatever!’ approach, resulting in us charging about, perpetually late for the clubs they didn’t want to go to, and leaving a trail of possessions in our wake. Being sorted simply makes life easier, and more pleasant, for everyone. It’s actually called being a grown-up.
I wouldn’t be so hung up about peas
What does it matter, really, whether everyone eats their greens on a daily basis? I thought I was doing the right thing, policing their vegetable intake – but, in fact, all my fretting and cajoling had very little effect. As a new parent now I would cheerfully serve up whatever they wanted, safe in the knowledge that scurvy is unlikely to occur.
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I’d divvy up chores at an early age
By seven years old they’d be in charge of the hoovering and by 10 they would be cheerfully repainting my house.
As it was, I always said it was easier just to do things myself. Foolish words.
I’d be kinder to myself
Blessed with another bash at this parenting lark, I’d forgive myself for my many little mistakes.
So I sent them off on a hike with no packed lunch? A kind scout leader shared his sandwiches. I took them to see a film that, frankly, terrified the wits out of them? It gave us plenty to talk and laugh about afterwards.
Losing my temper occasionally, throwing my handbag across the hallway in rage and all my money tumbling out, buying them ill-fitting clothes, making a disgusting cheesecake, losing our car in the airport car park, taking the kids to a birthday party on the wrong day… not ideal, I know, but all part of being busy - and human.
And in the grand scheme of things, what did these slip-ups matter?
I’d relax and enjoy it!
More than anything, I wish I hadn’t subscribed to some ‘perfect parent’ ideal and just relaxed and enjoyed every minute.
I’ll tell this to my own kids if and when they become parents. Don’t worry, I’ll say, because everything will be fine. Oh, and don’t start crying because nobody will eat your cheesecake.
Fiona Gibson is the author of 10 novels. Her latest, The Woman Who Upped and Left, is published on 25 February (Avon).
Written by Fiona Gibson
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