F*@! Me it’s hot.

Heat wave

As I have already discussed rather heavily with anyone who will listen to me babies/toddlers ruin everything (at times) and whilst they are adorable (also at times) they are a force to be reckoned with.
This heat has been an ongoing battle that has made bed times harder and those lovely cuddles a damn sight stickier and whilst I would have normally taken this opportunity to shave my legs and embrace the chub rub I’ve been avoiding the outside through fear of melting and sun stroke.
We have furthermore discovered that George is (just as his father) allergic to the summer and fighting a losing battle with hay fever so when I think of heat wave I’m automatically drawn to the fear of puffy eyes, melting, uncomfortable sleep for the adults and children alike, wrestling with the factor 50 and a giant brown hound unable to deal with these temperatures. In short this year is not the year for us to enjoy the sun and realising this is like having someone crush your spirits. I can only liken the act of covering a toddler in sun tan lotion with wrestling a crocodile just with less teeth and a less deadly bite.
I love the sun and I know I sound like a moany old cowbag I have a clingy son who requires a lot of carrying and cuddling which could not have come at a worse time.
Have you ever tried to keep a hat on a one year old, granted it’s getting easier but blimey it a nightmare. Have you ever had to convince a eight year old that if they don’t keep apply the lotion they will burn? “But mummy I haven’t ever burnt before” yes well that’s because your mother is sun lotion tyrant that remembers pinning you down to keep you protected. Have you ever have to give up your picnic food because regardless of how many times you have told your child that sandy hand will equate to sandy food they won’t listen until its happened to them? They have, and will continue to, ruin summer for many years to come.
Summer used to be for beer gardens and late night BBQ’s now it’s for ice cream fights and baths ever night.

In fairness the sunshine has also brought with it use of beaches, paddling pools, splash parks and garden fun and whilst I’m not having to stop my son from emptying the pool and eating the sand it has been rather pleasant.

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Daily Mail Mother Hating.

I read an extremely rude article (obviously a daily mail special) about how fashionable it is to be a selfish mother, drink a lot of gin and confess to the moments your mothering has been a little under par. I get it, I write openly about how hard parenthood can be and I want so desperately to remove the stigma that plagues us all with having to be the best at something that is so notoriously hard for many of us but we need to do this with a degree of restraint because glamourising dysfunctional behaviour can be very damaging. The ‘instamum’ fad is something that I follow because it’s somewhat interesting but it is far from my life, I often blog about the difficulties of every day life with a baby and child and all the washing and the bloody bottles and before that the problems I had with boob feeding but it is all required to raise my little humans. I laugh at the size of my butt and the hangover I may have once a year when I dare to make that trip back into normality, BUT to me and many other mums it is not normality! I cannot afford to drink fancy gin infused with the flowers from a Beatrix Potter like garden, I cannot afford the beautiful shoes and all the fancy clothes, I cannot afford to resume my previous job and benefit from some of the freedom that may allow. I am not bitter, I have two gorgeous children and the last thing I want to do is be judgemental but what we should do is take the things we see with a pinch of salt because these mumma’s with the thousands of followers on social media may not be portraying the reality of their life (barely anyone does these days) and in allowing others to see what makes them popular as the norm of their life may lead to the imitation of this and it could become dangerous. Let’s face it all that gin they apparently consume may be a lie, and if it isn’t they may have a really good support network of people that help them out with their busy social life.
Essentially what I am trying to say in the most nonjudgmental way possible is that for the vast majority of us parents we cannot simply (and I do not believe we should either) slip children into our lives, we need to adapt and change to what they need. It is hard to retain your original identity when you have children, and I am not saying that you will never get it back or that at times it is not okay for it to make a comeback whilst you are at the bar drinking shots but that is not the reality your children need as a common occurrence. Children need to come first, that’s right I have to take a back seat with my own needs and wants to fulfil what I want for my children. I choose to populate, I need to ensure that I do it to my best abilities.
I also am suffering from postnatal depression and anxiety and whilst I do my best at as mum I can sometimes see the lifestyles of others who are more confident, outgoing and relaxed mothers and want a slice of that, I know my limitations and I cannot afford myself to slip into the bad habits of lazy parenting because it would be so detrimental for me. Remove the stigma of accepting that some days are a little shit, some weeks, some months even, do not glamorise the notion of being a mother that doesn’t care (not saying that they don’t) is okay. You get me?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-4508726/Why-women-boasting-slummy-mummies.html

 

Hitting The Town In 5 Easy Steps.

There are many perils to consider; I mean is the freedom truly worth the hideous repercussions that you will face in the morning (which to be honest are often even worse than you thought) and if you believe that hangovers get worse the older you are that is nothing compared to what they have the capacity to do to parents. It is not only the fear of the next day you have to conquer but the acceptance that this is a night that you are likely to get even less sleep than normal, you will have to make peace with the impending sleep deprivation and the inclusion of the ‘adult headache’ so that is stage one. Stage two is getting dressed, it is very feasible that this will bring you to tears, because what do people actually wear when they go out these days? Not only is it safe to say that the vast majority of shops no longer accommodate for the size of my arse and the width of my hips I am far from ready to don the very fashionable crop tops they seem so eager to flog me, so whilst I breakdown in front of very limited wardrobe I will inevitably have my first drink. Stage three is actually leaving the house without the pram; never have my arms felt so redundant. Going out at night is super weird when you haven’t done it for the best part of 18 months, it is cold and dark and really the time when you should be in bed waiting for the party that is going to wake up everyone in your house at around 2am but hell you have done it now, congratulations! Stage four is probably the worse stage; you are no longer comfortable with being out, it happened so quickly but all of a sudden you are faced with the prospect of drinking and dancing and your first sip has already rendered you tipsy and you have no idea how to even move to the music that is being played. If you did not realise it before now; having a baby ages you, it is a mixture of the shit sleep, the lack of interaction you have following the birth of an all consuming monster and right now it is evident, you did not realise that it is fashionable to wear see-through clothes with sequinned bras, trousers with more holes in them than a golf course and that pubs appear to now be letting in twelve year olds. It is all very difficult but the vodka is making it easier and before you know it you are on the dance floor trying to perform the ‘big fish/little fish’ dance moves in rhythm to the beat of every song (that ultimately all sound the same) they are playing. Stage five, trying to get home, if you thought that getting out your house was hard you will be shocked about how difficult it is now to get back there, not only are you drunk and slow but you are hungry, really really hungry and the only thing better than a regular hangover is one that is flavoured with the reminisce of the previous nights kebab. If you are lucky enough to not have lost your keys you will still have a terrible time trying to get them in the keyhole before you struggle to try and undo the damage of all the noise you have already made by sneaking up the stairs. You may have mastered how to avoid ever single creak that is made on the journey up the stairs but that training has all been lost whilst inebriated but if you manage to get up them without waking the baby there is no way that your partner won’t be up and waiting, especially if like me you had reassured them it wouldn’t be a late night and actually it is now early morning.

But oh my gosh would I do it all again? Of course, I just may need another 6 months to recover from this one.

13st 10Ilbs

Before lunch.

I don’t know what it is about these numbers that cause me so much upset but if I am being honest they really do. My body is an issue to me, I don’t like it and I’m almost certain that I never will. This is not a blog that is going to inspire self acceptance or give you some bullshit speech about how perfect you are because quite frankly I’ve just told you hate my body, it’s also unlikely I’ve ever seen your’s, you don’t need my validation it won’t help you at all and lastly it is none of my business. But it is a business, a very lucrative one and if we consider that then maybe we can jump to the conclusion no one has a perfect body because how the fuck would they continue to make money out of us. We are not encouraged or allowed to feel good about ourselves.

Take plus size models for an example, how fucking fabulous do they look? They have their cellulite airbrushed out, they have their hair and makeup done professionally and they have a perfect skin tone all over. So is that the reality of being plus size?

I have never been happy with my weight and the acceptance of it hasn’t been in short supply, my partner loves my body and the way I look but it’s just not enough and I don’t think I’ll ever know what is enough. Some preach self love and I’m not saying that doesn’t work and many of you may have this but I don’t think that the confidence it takes is in huge supply. In short I’m trying and it’s not for me it’s for my daughter, a 7 year old I never want to have the internal conflict and struggle of who she is. I don’t want my son to grow up to become a man not only aware of this type of self doubt but who may use it in an emotionally damaging way.

There are women who work out 7 days a week, there are some that skip meals, there are even some that try to put on weight and those who are happy are often fucking shamed for this. We don’t value confidence but we strive for it

Basically there is no right just wrong, my favourite example of this is shaving adverts where the model shaves a hairless leg because the existence of hair means you’re lazy or dirty or unkempt. I don’t know how I’m going to do it but I’m trying to feel right about being wrong. I’m sharing this not to tell you what you think you want or need to hear, I’m doing it because you’re not alone

Below, I never wear matching underwear, I have a hole in these pants and the red line around my tummy is from my tights. My legs stick together. My skin is blotchy. I don’t like it but I’m going to do what I can to like it.

The Lies We Tell. 

I recently spoke to a work colleague about social media and how they personally did not tend to post anything because they didn’t have anything that they considered as interesting to anybody else going on. They didn’t have children. With this conversation it hit me that not only do I post up a huge amount of pictures of my children but I also make it not only seem like my life is interesting but that it’s some sort of fairytale happy. Don’t get me wrong I am happy, I have a loving partner, two wonderful children,a giant  chocolate Labrador and a very fat ginger cat, but in the same day I can have a partner that drives me round the twist, two children that push me to my breaking point, a dog that poops in the dinning room and a cat that won’t come in when called, but I rarely post about that. The reality of our lives is much different to what we let other people see and when they do see what’s really happening it can be viewed as embarrassing, like I’m about to get embarrassed that I sometimes fantasise about killing my boyfriend. Here are some of the things you didn’t see:


George got into a right state putting on his sleep suit, I nearly cried and Millie refused to get out of the bath because she’d get cold, instead she stayed in it sobbing whilst I tried to explain I needed her to get the fuck out. I screamed, everyone cried. 


Millie refused to drink her hot chocolate and only wanted mine, I refused to eat the cake I’d been bought and we all got really stressed at each other and I shouted in Costa. I did not say thank you. 


I received flowers from Jess after he was a dick, I posted a picture of them with emoji hearts, still did not forgive him and continued to be a bitch. 


I’d been bought a Yankee Candle Advent calendar, I was really disappointed and rude because it wasn’t bought ready for December 1st and I wanted chocolate. 


I had been dreading Halloween all week and didn’t want to go trick or treating in the cold, I was very annoyed. 


Possibly my all time favourite lie. We walked devils chimney and I hated every sing step, I moaned because it was too hot, I was too fat, the baby was too heavy, my legs were chaffing. 

So I am happy, I am in love, I am at times a big fat lie teller. 

Peace out.