What the actual…..

So I was quite concerned by the presence of this in my news feed on Facebook:


“One thing we’re absolutely assured of is that if we could emancipate all the women in the world like that,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “the birth rate would drop considerably. Because educated women have fewer kids, for obvious reasons: they have a greater scope to enjoy a richer life. We know that for a fact.”

Well personal I think that’s bullshit. I’m going to call this out, I don’t think it’s smarter to have a small family, I think those who have a good career to return to MAY choose the financial security of fewer children. There after hours of thinking this is how I’ve put it. Children are fucking expensive and the more you have the higher the cost is with childcare, maybe higher educated women happen to have more financial restraints because we all live to our means, and that may be a job you cannot afford to leave if you catch my drift. My salary was mediocre, without it we survive, however if it was high and we had more monetary commitments due to a lifestyle before children than maybe living on one wage would not work? I don’t think it’s because educated people prefer their ‘riches’ and I don’t think that means those with large families are under-educated poor people. 

And why the fuck is it always ‘let’s scrutinise the mothers’ clearly it’s solely a woman thing, we procreate independently?? 

Tell me what you think. 

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And it’s only lunch time….

Today has been whole heap of shit, I have had a 9 month old terrorist screaming at me because he hasn’t slept enough. With all respect George you woke me up not the other way around. Where the hell do kids get off with their unreasonable demands such as I want to eat the router and stick my fingers in the plug, do they seriously not get that I’m just trying to keep them alive?? 

Oh and Millie, she is a master of the emotional blackmail card, feels like she isn’t get enough attention: cries, feels like no one is listening (because there are 1 million other things going on): cries, can’t get her coat down from the peg: cries. I’m going to have her tear ducts fucking removed. 

Today I haven’t wanted to parent, I’ve been looking through Instagram posts of people traveling and the exciting careers that they have, the nice belongings that are vomit free, their cleaned houses because they don’t have a tiny person chasing them around destroying things, their dogs are not sat on the sofa refusing to move and laughing at them secretly. 

George is asleep on me as I am writing this and I am too petrified to move him even though I haven’t peed since 8am and I need a coffee, this is the definition of parenting complete and utter fear. Some days the fear is less but it’s always fucking there. 

Tomorrow will be a day with less fear and anger. A day Millie comes down stairs and tells me about her wonderful dream that was full of fairies and unicorns, she’ll give me loads of kisses and cuddles and say I love you first. A day where George may not scream at me for hours because he is frustrated with not being able to walk, a day where I may only have to ply him away from the shoe rack once and a day where he kisses me. They push you to the point of utter torment only to completely pull it out of the bag and make you realise that they are actually the best things you could have done with your life. Then the day after normal business will resume and I’ll be fantasising about running out on them again, little shits. 


Let’s not raise arseholes

The internet is a scary place, like literally terrifying at times, when you’re a women you are bombarded by pictures of unrealistic standards of beauty (I cannot relate (due to the lack of willy) to men, but I’m sure it can be the same) for example they can literally cripple how I feel about myself, yes I can be that insecure. But this post isn’t about all the women that look better than me. It’s about all the mum envy out there. We all have different ways of caring for our young, some promote breast over bottle, or self led weening over making all your meals into smoothies for your babies, or the carrying mum vs the pram lady.

I want to just say, whatever you are doing is great!

I recently read that Russel Brand is going to raise his daughter ‘gender neutral’ and I cannot come to a reasonable thought as to why this is being done? Do people really do this? Why don’t we all just raise our bubs with acceptance? Accepting who they are as well as who others are. Let’s not raise arseholes. I want to bring George up as a feminist, backing his female counterparts. George has a mum and a sister and aunts etc, I want him to value them as much as he will himself. Millie needs to as supportive to her brother as I expect him to be to her, do you get it? Love each other, embrace what makes up similar and what makes us different.

It’s crazy that as mums we are under as much pressure as we are from external avenues, as if not coping with enormous responsibility of raising a decent human being is not hard enough! Sometimes I have to detach myself from all the wonderful mums I follow on Instagram and remind myself that we are all just trying to do a good job and some people do it looking like a super star and sometime I do it looking like a potato…in my defence I’m getting about 4 hours sleep a night. Anyway he is awake so I’m signing off.

Just a passing thought. Peace.

Drained and dangerous.

In many cases having a baby brings on a whole heap of emotions and they don’t appear to have any correlation at the start, it was quite uncontrollable. I was happy to have my baby, I was confused about my empty body, I was running on adrenaline from the birth. As the months have gone by I look at my body with a different shock, I meet my babies eye with a full range of emotions not just joy, the feelings are all there but sometimes I still get a little consumed by them occasionally. Occasionally being daily.

What I’m trying to say is I have a lot of feelings and they fall out very often, I kinda find that’s justified being that my body has been through a trauma and my life has been tipped upside down. I cry and I laugh, often within the same hour of each other. IT IS NOT DEPRESSION. Postnatal depression is real and it is hard, I suffered from this when my first was born, but what I am going through now is normal. I have barely slept, I worry about the things I have to do and what will happen if they aren’t done, I’m anxious about work, I’m scared about every night that comes closer, I am filed with love for my baby and looking at him makes me so happy. I get nervous my oldest doesn’t get what she needs, I get nervous that I overcompensate with her and the affect that it may have. So I have the spectrum of emotions running around my body and I often don’t have the mental capacity to keep them inside my body but a good way of getting them out is to question whether I have depression.

Depression is not something to be ashamed of, it’s not something to hide, but it’s also not a issue to be thrown around lightly. I’m quite insulted when my mental health is questioned and scrutinised. Life with children is hard, you have another life pushing boundaries, draining your energy, consuming all your resources. We would not allow this from a friend, a partner or even a parent or sibling but we allow this destruction of self from our children and that is part of parenting.

Parenting is often (I don’t want to generalise) harder on the mother, I grew a baby and then I gave birth to the baby. I have given up work, I have no money, because I don’t work I’m always on the night shift, I spend a lot of time in the home, the home I clean etc etc. I resent my partner for not having the same responsibilities as me and I don’t always in my rage remember he has his own responsibilities (granted their range is not as wide as mine). I don’t have depression I just hate you temporarily sometimes and I do believe you hate me back occasionally. You need to take some culpability for my feelings as I do yours and you need to try to elevate the burden of my internal struggle with my emotions because it will help us all in the long run.

Night Shift Boss

I do complain at my partner about the sleepiness, it bothers me when he lays there sleeping whilst I fed and then get up and down up and down. I can’t stand it when he lays there awake playing on his phone and not talking to me whilst I fed then get up and down up and down. I hate it when he gets up and down as every failed attempt to put the baby to sleep could have been a success for me. The common theme here is being AWAKE, and I can tell you that I hate being awake 3 – 5 times a night.

So if I hate my partner awake or asleep during the nights what the hell can he actually do right?

So that was written at about 3am during the angry awake hours I spent waiting for my phone to die whilst George was asleep on the sofa and I was quietly raging. The morning has now broken and the oldest is at school, I ache with anger. I also ache because George has split my nipple and the pain is radiating all the way down my arm. So this morning whilst I was trying to leave my partner he told me that I was not his mother nor his boss and that whilst he would listen to me he could choose to ignore what I said. Well the kitchen knife was looking lovely had the room not been clean this could have been a much worse entry. To be honest I don’t have the energy to kill anyone, nor the stomach. Eventually I have successfully explained that it is my job to be exhausted, I get that I am the at home parent but I need to be listened to. When I say get up and help he needs to and when I say sleep he has to do that, so last night when I had had enough and took the boy downstairs so I could drink coffee and watch Law and Order alone I really did want to be alone. Because I am the one that has to do it I am the one that gets to dictate how it is done. I am the boss on the night time shift.

The No-sleep Gang

Motherhood is so rewarding, it’s beautiful to be the person that gets the smiles in the middle of the night even when you’ve spent the best part of 5 months awake. Motherhood is also fucking brutal, like I said you have probably spent the best part of 5 months awake at, for some of you it’s even longer, and then there is the sleep fear. I am currently dealing with the sleep fear, I’m scared to drift off incase he suddenly requires boob, a cuddle, or even just someone to smile at. When I do sleep I have dreams of being woken, I wake up to phantom sounds and every morning I awake a little more tired than the day before.

My body. Well it carried my beautiful children, and I am forever grateful that it did but it is one hell of a mess now. In the grand scheme of things it’s not a mess but when you no longer recognise it and it feels alien to you it makes it hard. My body no longer feels like it belongs to me, with the breastfeeding and the multiple demands that are placed upon it by everyone that requires my care it feels frail. I used to enjoy getting myself dressed, everyday brought with it a new freedom of style and expression now I dread it. The fear I have about getting dressed is probably one of the things I struggle with most, I’m uncomfortable in the clothes I wear, so whilst fighting with my naked self I also fight with my dressed self. This makes the cycle of self loathing an ongoing battle.

With the conflict I’m having within my own clothes and skin the battle inevitably extends to sex. We have a lot of sex, good sex, but not as much of it and I have to contend with my partners comments about him having to adjust. It’s painful, it hurt that whilst I am going through the many changes that are so personal to a women with little to no emotional support (let’s face men don’t get it) I have to worry about the repercussions of my feelings that I cannot control on my partner.

Responsibilities are hard and draining, I am the eyes of this house, I am required to know and see everything. Where the hat is. Where is the baby sock? Are my jeans clean? The list goes on. Then there is the constant stream of washing. Cooking I enjoy because everyone loves eating so much that they leave me to it, it’s my alone time. I shower around the timetable of others, often interrupted.

I know that this is a complaint about life, but juggling living on not enough sleep, with a constant dull headache and heavy eyes, a body I no longer like, a body I no longer understand with the hormones raging and a partner mostly unchanged it’s hard. I see families and I notice that the men look smart, tidy, refreshed whilst there counterpart looks uncomfortable, tired and sometimes unhappy. This isn’t everyone all the time but it reminds me that it’s not just me. I do not take comfort in the similarities of the struggle between mothers, it breaks us and then we have to rebuild knowing that it’s going to happen again and I feel for every single one of us. It just might comfort you all to know that you are not alone, we stand united with a bond of motherhood. We are all part of the no-sleep gang.IMG_6516.JPG

Mum’s Night Off

So I wanted to write a review of my first night out since being pregnant (first drinking – I hadn’t gone complete hermit). It was a great night, a night I was actually quite unprepared for having never attempted hand expressing  (a good friend had described this as ‘easy’ – thanks Bids) and I spent the whole night awake with a chest that felt like concrete. George also guzzled 34oz in less than 24hrs and we were on the first boat home in the morning!

Despite being at a beautiful wedding where I was supporting the best man I must say my favourite speech came from the Mother of the Groom (unorthodox, maybe but terrific nonetheless) it was a reading from Good Housekeeping about the requirements of a wife, it was incredibly hilarious albeit not intentionally at the time so I want to give it a modern spin, here goes.

1. Notice the housework. It take two seconds to lie about how clean the bathroom looks. It’s not the fairies and maybe try and do some?

2. That meal you love eating, you know the one? The recipe is available on BBC Food.

3. You are weary from work? I have entertained two children all day, one has regaled me with a 45 minute dream sequence that has consisted of every mystical creature you can think and the other has thrown up over every outfit I tried to wear before I just thought ‘fuck it’. WEARY? You do not know the meaning of this word.

4. Sex. Be grateful, and be ready because if you even dream to turn me down like I do you when I cannot keep my eyes open I will  hold it against you for a month, pretend to be on a drastic diet and finally have a breakdown in a bowl of ice cream

5. The children are also your responsibility, that means even though I’ll insist that I have this down and will not relinquish the baby you have to deal with the fallout of my strop that would have been completely avoidable if I’d have let you help when you’d offered.

6. Say sorry. Say sorry on behalf of the baby and children. Say sorry on behalf of the dog. Say sorry when I am in the wrong, just say fucking sorry please.

7. You will love me when I don’t love me. When I feel fat, when I have nothing nice to wear despite having a wardrobe full of pretty things. Tell me that I am important, lavish me attention even if I am on my phone.

8. Understand that I like to moan at you sometimes. Just suck it up.

9. Sometimes I wash up just to get pissed off you didn’t do it/offer. This is often done knowing you haven’t even had time to consider the need to clean the kitchen and is an unjustified argument.

10. I do actually love you. Crazy amounts and I am quite sorry about numbers 1-9.

In conclusion it’s unlikely that can actually live with us and our species would die if you lived without us but it was a jolly fine wedding, the bride looked stunning and the groom looked suitably stunned, the food and company were spectacular. Cheers and good luck.img_5921