Bliss

Yesterday I experienced one of those perfect mornings - two kids at school, one in preschool, and a perfect sunny day all to myself! What to do? When an opportunity like this arises, there is no better way to spend the day, in my mind, than a walk along the beach and a swim. So that I did, parking at Bar Beach and joining the predominantly female sporty types pounding that stretch of pavement winding up the hill towards The Hill. Beautiful. My favourite tunes pumping through my earphones, a spectacular view of our beloved blue playground the Pacific Ocean and a lively array of people to "watch" took me further than expected, as far as Nobby's. It was there I had my first twinge of guilt, as happy parents happily frolicked with their happy kids in the world pool and the rock pools near Nobby's. Or were they?

Interestingly and coincidently, following on from my initial guilt at seeing such displays of parental attention, I plopped myself down on the sand with a magazine after my refreshing post-walk swim at Bar Beach. I had deliberately found a spot away from the rock pools where good parents were playing with their kids rather than sending them to pre-school and enjoying their day alone. And there, I came across an article discussing recent findings comparing the happiness levels of parents and non-parents. I read, with surprise at first, of how a particular study placed the happiness levels of parents much lower than those of their non-parenting peers. I was surprised, given the extreme emotional feelings that having and raising children have inspired in myself and other parents I know. Then I burst through this bubble of bliss and recalled the endless, relentless saga of feeding, bathing, brushing teeth, nagging about homework, breaking up sibling fights, and their fussing, backchat, demands and downright obstinance. My mind wandered to just last night when I wailed out loud to anyone who would listen (er, no-one) "why oh why is every freakin' night the same ??!!", whilst wrestling a screaming, thrashing 3 year old with matted tufts in her waist length hair towards me and the loaded brush.

Was I happy at any of those moments? Er, I'd have to say no, not exactly. But 10 minutes later as the same wayward 3 year old squeezed her arms around my neck and said "goodnight", all feelings of frustration and anger (almost) floated away. Don't get me wrong, I adore my kids - they make me laugh and feel proud and inspire a she-wolf protectiveness in me that is inevitable with such intense love.

However, I'm not surprised a clinical study finds that happiness levels in parents is lower. If happiness is measured in terms of feelings of general contentment, serenity and well-being, then parenthood most definately puts the kibosh on that. But if, as the article suggests, happiness is defined by being involved, active and having a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, then these are attributes any parent could attest to. There's no way parenthood has ever left me feeling like I have nothing to do, or my life has no meaning.

In saying that, I adore that awesome schlumping sound the lounge makes once the kids are in bed and it's time to simply switch off and zone out. I'm quite happy at those times to be mind-numbingly bored and cross-eyed with complacency.

So, I should just point out that my guilt was shortlived on my day of freedom. I told myself to snap myself out of it and enjoy the little life-raft of pleasure that drifted my way. Whatever it takes to stay afloat..

PS. Just as well too, as a sleepless night of vomiting child was just around the corner!