Volume control

3 May 2017

11am

Where is the volume button?

I'd like to say that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today but I'd spent half the night on the sofa, with Huxley. He has been waking me up at 3.30am systematically for weeks now and I end up taking him there to settle.

I have no tolerance of the volume today, surprisingly. Some days, my blocking out skills work better. But there are days when every bit of noise rubs me up the wrong way. When Peppa's voice is more ear-splitting than normal or the Minions' babble is drilling a hole in the skull.

Parenting is such a noisy time. I know, that is stating the outrageously obvious, but reflecting on all the flopped expectations of parenthood is quickly becoming a favourite activity! It certainly is an eye (ear) opener. When daddy comes home from work at the end of the day, he always exclaims, "I forget how chaotic being around the kids is". I'm just amazed that he has the chance and capacity to forget!

Turbulence is the generic theme at home. How does the small kid not get sick of that Old Macdonald? I'm secretly happy when those noise buttons stop working. When both kids are at them, it's enchantingly harrowing... The Vtech cars, the light-up singing drumsticks, even the posh lego train – let them run out of steam! The battery charger can take its time!

May I take the liberty of narrowing down a few of the things that were not quite obvious to the oblivious (me), pre-kids:

Volume levels.
Sleep deprivation.
The state of your home.
Very limited loo time.
The frequency of the poos (theirs).
The trail of destruction deposited every day without fail.

I try not to turn my back on the wee ones when they're awake but of course, that isn't always practical. And a bit of a tall order. Out of that list, going to the loo is by far the biggest, regular challenge for me.

In the brief moments I manage to pause for the loo, I hear all sorts of noises. Sometimes the noise comes into the bathroom with me and I suppose that is the safer scenario, when they're in my face. But a woman does crave a bit of privacy every so often, even from her unwitting babies.

I don't know what is better – an audience in the bathroom and the toddler shredding the bog roll, sheet by sheet – or noise from afar and escalating out of control. My heart races as I imagine the worst case scenario to be confronted with on exit. I'm talking about the kind of noise that is the most piercing shriek of sheer terror; the kind that reaches the ends of the nerves.

Oh gawd. What now?

I have been faced with fountainous bleeding from his head on turning my back for literally a second, which would make Niagra Falls look like dribbles from a tap. That's amongst other incidents in the past. We ended up in A&E to glue a forehead together that time. Rafy still has the scar to remind him not to run without care, and to remind me to be even less relaxed around the boys! I'd considered a Harry Potter costume for his last nursery dressing up day, seeing as we have a free scar, but thought it might alert the school to his oddball mum with screwed up sense of humour!

When I must leave the room, I have to turn my chair over. Yes, you read that right, I physically turn my chair on its side. And all chairs in sight. Like this:

If I don't, this happens:

Longer loo trips require moving all chairs to the balcony. Nature calls at the most convenient of times, as you know. It's a lovely, joyous shuffle of time wastage.

Recently I noticed something at a pupils' house. I teach piano to a mother and her three boys, aged 8 to 10. They are generally the most serene, affable people around, yet the level of noise can be bewildering. Sometimes, a combination of yelling and what sounds like furniture being thrown down the stairs, penetrates. Yet the mother is consistently not fazed by any of it. I look at her in admiration and she tells me that she just ignores them. She is my superhero! I applaud her for finding a survival technique and one day when the boys are older, I know my grade of endurance will be markedly improved. Och aye.

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