Julie Jay: Chaos aside, being a parent has made me the happiest I've ever been

For all my moaning about the challenges of parenting - of which there are many - I can honestly say being a mammy has given me my happiest moments. 

When I ask Number Two who his favourite person is, he tells me it is his brother (I will keep asking this question until we get the correct answer - Mammy).

I’ve recently realised that for all my moaning about parenting, I am in fact happier than I have ever been.

Back in the day, I wasn’t averse to calling to my GP for a cure for a broken heart, for which it turns out there is no prescription but travelling.

If you are a person of a younger age demographic, please know that travelling consists of going to a different country and crying about your ex there.

Thankfully, since having kids, I’ve had no need to travel because, despite the many tears I have shed over spilled breastmilk, I have truly never been more content.

All of my most favourite moments involve my kids, and that’s the truth.

Getting to be a parent is almost having a redo; an opportunity to go back and be the friend to my kids that I wish I could have had as a child.

When I was a kid, though my parents actively supported my little personality quirks, I didn’t feel the warm and fuzzies from my peers. This was surprising, as you would have thought my penchant for drawing political caricatures of all the bigwigs at the time (Albert Reynolds, Dick Spring, to name but a few) would have made me really popular with fellow third-class students. Sadly for me and my 2B pencil, though, this was not the case.

Now I get to doodle again — this time, with my six-year-old for company, who seems to have plenty of friends, but just in case, I’ve decided to try to make myself his bestie.

So far, I have tried introducing Number One to numerous extracurricular activities with mixed success, and it is only recently that I have embraced that, for the moment at least, Number One would rather be at home asking me to read aloud his latest book or building Lego or drawing rocket ships than anything else.

And I’ve come to accept he doesn’t have to be participating in organised fun to be having fun, because there is nothing wrong with loving your own company. I should know, because when I was six, I loved mine. I also loved Lego, and books, and drawing rocket ships. How wonderful to indulge that love all over again.

I want my kids to feel seen, and I don’t always succeed in doing that, but it’s why I try to take a keen interest in Number One’s incredibly detailed drawings and his Nuacht an Lae, which is in equal parts wholesome and disappointing: I was expecting more gossip than his friend is on holidays, and they picked blackberries. In Number One’s defence, I think he isn’t a fan of red-top journalism, and it showed in his measured reporting of a soccer match where he announced, with absolutely zero bias, that he single-handedly won the game.

Honestly, what makes me most happy these days isn’t performing comedy to packed rooms, but it is Number One responding with an ‘I’m proud of you too’ when I tell him how much I admire him and his beautiful heart. It is when I ask Number Two who his favourite person is, and he tells me it is his brother (I will keep asking this question until we get the correct answer — Mammy).

If you had told me 10 years ago that all I had to do to finally find an Irishman who understood me was to make one, I probably would have done it there and then. So it’s just as well you didn’t, because otherwise their dad would be a part-time DJ, full-time playboy who would probably still have me blocked on WhatsApp. The universe always has a plan.

Of course, we have moments when we are all killing each other, and I will be running out of kisses very soon if Number One’s rejection of them is anything to go by. I know the tiny hugs I get are so precious, because even now, when Number One does throw me a bone in the form of an embrace, it always feels rushed.

He is constantly en route to something else, the next adventure, the next tree to climb.

This will be the last time I’m writing this column for ieParenting, and I cannot tell you how much joy it has given me. It is the reason I am stopped in the street most often — that, along with my terrible parking. In my defence, my boot is so perpetually stuffed that I feel I should automatically qualify for the loading bay, but numerous clamping companies would beg to differ.

Thank you to you, the readers, for keeping me company, for all your emails, messages and kind words.

Much like a hastily given hug from Number One, I am running off to the next adventure.