I paid my kids to sleep - I'm embracing being a 'terrible' mum

Metro

4 days ago

Glancing at the clock, I made a point of noting the time: It was 9:34pm and I was about to lose my mind.
I'd already read a story three times in various tones and accents. I'd sung a Carpenters medley while stroking her little forehead. I'd kissed, cuddled, filled her water bottle and turned the pillow over to the 'cold side'.
And yet, my daughter, Nell, was still not tired.
I, on the other hand, was. My own bedtime routine was now two hours behind schedule, and, as my body felt like it had been run over by a toy pram full of bricks, I had nothing left to give.
So, I reached for the only thing I had left in my parenting toolkit: My wallet.
'If you go to sleep right now, I'll give you five pounds,' I whispered with desperation in my voice.
Without a moment's hesitation, she snatched it from my hand, rolled over, and fell asleep instantly.
As I crept out of her room, stunned by the efficiency of the transaction, I felt triumphant. The peace was instant, the silence golden. And yet, hovering above my relief was also a tiny, buzzing drone called 'mum guilt'.
What sort of failure pays her children to sleep? A voice in my head screamed.
Surely this confirmed it: I was a terrible parent.
I could have spiralled then and there. Vowed to never stoop so low again. But, I realised, this wasn't realistic.
Instead, I've decided to embrace being a 'terrible' mum and guess what? My life is so much better for it.
Once upon a time, I'd tried to do it all. To be the perfect mum.
I had the right pram (three wheels, naturally), the right shoes (Birkenstocks, obviously), and a stack of parenting books piled beside my bed, a towering pillar of my parental support and knowledge.
Only, I never actually read them. Mostly, they just supported my (cold) cup of tea.
I did, however, listen to parenting podcasts and sign up for a parenting course hoping to transform into a patient, bliss-ball-excreting Earth mother.
But all that did was leave me muttering profanities into the fridge 10 times a day and investing in way too many tasselled, boho cushions hoping to plump up my jolly mummy persona.
I so desperately wanted to be the kind of mum who delivered finger foods as she watched Bluey, carved faces in carrot coins, and who never once shouted 'Where are your shoes?' into the void during the pre-pre-school sh*t show.
But the more I chased perfection, the more I unravelled. I wasn't present, I was performing.
Wearing a cheerful mask every day was completely draining. I'd stand at the school gates with a smear of almond flour from a failed fluffy muffin recipe on my cheek, hoping everyone thought I had it together when in truth, I was falling apart.
One day, after forgetting yet another excursion form, missing a school concert, and sending my youngest to kindergarten with nothing but a lump of cheddar in his lunch box having picked up the wrong container, I broke.
I sat in the Aldi car park and sobbed for 15 minutes, mothering fatigue weighing heavy on my shoulders, my performance fraying at the seams, and perimenopause nibbling at my ankles.
It was all just too much.
That's when it finally hit me – no one has it together.
Parenting isn't a curated Instagram reel, it's chaos, love, failure, and laughter, all in a single school run. It's sobbing into a pillow one minute and organising playdates the next.
From that moment on I stopped trying to be perfect. I began leaning on my unconditional love, rather than a perception of what I should be and I started showing up as I am: flawed, shouty, loving, and late most of the time.
So, did I really feel any guilt about paying my daughter to go to bed? Not really. Would I do it again? Most likely.
Victoria Vanstone's latest book, Mumming – A Year of Trying (and Failing) to be a Better Parent, is a hilarious and heartfelt exploration of the messy realities of modern parenting. You can purchase Mumming in the UK here: https://amzn.eu/d/26T44nL
I'm at the 'whatever works' stage of mumming so if it's been 'one of those days' and there is nothing left except a skimmed bedtime story and spare change, then so be it.
On paper, it still looks like I'm failing: I've sent my son into school wearing flip flops that were two sizes too big, I forget swimming lessons, never bake for fundraisers, and I've thrown a plastic cup at a wall in frustration. I shout too much, shove Wotsits in faces to get the weekly shop done and I hide in the bathroom when I should be helping with maths.
But, I've never missed a cuddle. I apologise when I get it wrong. I let them see me mess up and try again.
I know some mums will judge me – we live in a world full of comparison, our every move under the spotlight, waiting to be sneered at – but I'm okay with that. More Trending
Because here's the thing: I am the mum that shows up, not the one that always gets it right.
The mum who sometimes feeds her kids toast for dinner but also the one who talks honestly about feelings. Who swears, then hugs. Who shouts, then says sorry.
So if you feel like you're failing, you're not. You're just parenting. Badly, beautifully, imperfectly. And that, I've learned, is enough.
Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing [e-mail].
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