30 Days of Toddlers

Me, Sarah and Billy

Name: Sarah Bieske

Occupation: Journo/Mum-of-two

How we met: Sars and I used to work together and around the office she was known for two things, besides her journalistic talents – her height and her heels.

Anyone who knows Sarah has a major case of shoe envy. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing, she always seems to have the perfect pair of brightly coloured heels to match. 

Her love of heels probably stems from her height. At five-foot-nothing she cut an unusual figure in the Geelong Cats locker room interviewing burly 6 foot 5 inch footballers as a sports journalist for many years.

She is also married to Matty, AKA Beautiful Matt, one of the world’s greatest men.

Meet Sarah:

They say life is all about choices and today, at 1.44pm, my day came down to three: eat, shower or sleep.

Sure, they all seem like pretty simple options – even a little leisurely for those of you 9-5 workers.

But let me assure you, it was a decision that would have a significant impact on the rest of my day.

Eat, and I would have spent the next nine hours trying desperately to keep my eyes open and discreetly smelling myself for any remnants of Mr Nine-week-old’s baby vomit and this morning’s Weet-Bix thrown at me by Mr 17-month-old.

Shower, and I would have spent the next nine hours again, trying desperately to keep my eyes open but also trying to hush the rumbling that had taken over my stomach.

Sleep, well, at least sleep would have helped me cope with the rumblings and the baby vomit/leftover Weet-Bix stench.

I chose to shower. It had been a day, maybe two since my last. I’m not quite sure. But those four minutes of hot water and peace and quiet were heavenly. I am now however extremely hungry and overtired.

Tomorrow I think I’ll definitely opt for sleep. You see, as a mum of two under two, I get one small window each day (well, most days) that presents me with choices similar to the above.

The rest of my day goes something like this – change Mr Nine-weeks-old’s nappy, change Mr Toddler’s nappy. Feed Mr Nine-week-old, chase Mr Toddler. Settle Mr Nine-week-old, clean up after hurricane Toddler. You get the drift.

But don’t for a second think I’m complaining. It’s just simply a snapshot of my new life – my blessed, beautiful, busy life, since becoming a mum almost 18-months-ago.

Pre-Mr Toddler, I had the freedom to come and go as I please. I could hop in the car with nothing more than my mobile, wallet and lip gloss and go wherever I wanted, for as long as I wanted. I could do the groceries in 15minutes flat. I could go out at night and not count down the hours until I had to be up the next morning. I could wear nice clothes without worrying they’d soon be destroyed by Vegemite fingers and I could wear heels, fabulous heels, without looking completely impractical.

Now, each day, each week, each month, are basically a repeat of the same. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I love the happy singing and gurgles and squeals of excitement as I drive along in the car, even if I do have to listen to Winky Wonky Donkey on repeat.

I love watching Mr Toddler’s excitement as I wheel him into the supermarket and can’t help but marvel at his efficiency as he chucks each and every item I pass him over his head and into the back of the trolley, all while Mr Nine-week-old sleeps soundly on my chest in his Baby Bjorn.

I love going to bed at night knowing the next morning I’m going to wake up to a brand new day of cuddles, laughs, maybe a new word or two – and probably a few tantrums.

Sure, I miss dressing up and doing more with my hair than scrunching it up on the top of my head. But in all honesty, wearing trackies most days actually isn’t all that bad.

Each day might be just like the one before, but they’re the best days I’ve ever had.

Billy and Archie

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