Well normality has resumed.
I’ve said before that Princess is like me… she LOVES her food and has always had a wonderful petite.
One of the worst parts of her being sick for the past few weeks has been watching her having no interest in food. 
But it’s all OK apparently, because her appetite has returned, and with it has arrived her attitude.
I think she has fecking worms.
For the past 3 days, she has spent the ENTIRE afternoon and evening…right up until bedtime, either standing at the fridge grunting, opening every cupboard while lamenting the lack of food in her hand, or pushing her high chair around the kitchen, wailing like a cailleach.
And I’m not exaggerating.
Here is what she ate between 3pm and 7pm yesterday…

1 banana

1 yoghurt

2 rich tea biscuits

1.5 rice cakes 

Half of a wrap with ham

A bowl of Cheerios 

Pasta and 3 sausages
Not too bad you say? 

This was AFTER her day in creche, where I am informed she ate:

 Toast

 grapes

 brioche 

and TWO, YES TWO Bowls of Chilli with mashed potato.
TWO.
And once she saw the sausages going onto the pan, she cried incessantly until I lifted her up in my arms, from where she watched them cooking, alternating between squeaks of joy and whines of despair that they were not in fact in her fudgy hands yet.
My back was broken.

My head was busting.

My fridge was dangerously empty.  Only the meat for The Him’s dinner and brussel sprouts remained.

And they were in genuine danger!
Today, we’re slap bang in the middle of her “Feckin Feed Me” dance.  She is currently quiet because she is eating the end of Mini-Me’s yoghurt, deeming her own pot too empty for her.  

I have about 3 minutes before Round 3.

I am Stop Being Mean Mum

Do you know what is going on in another Mammy’s mind?

No?

Well then.

Try this.
Shut the fuck up. ๐Ÿ˜ก๐Ÿ˜ก
I am getting so sick and tired of keyboard warriors.  

Actually. Let’s not call them warriors.  “Warriors” carries connotations of strength and bravery and valiance and greater good.

Let’s rename them Keyboard cowards.
Because if you comment negatively on ANYBODY or their decisions, or their mistakes, or their ANYTHING… you are not a warrior.

You are a bitch.

And you are a coward.
This morning, a local platform highlighted a Mammy who left her baby in a running car outside a shop.

Now.  We all know that this is dangerous and many may have been shocked or disgusted.  

And that is fine. 
Shock and disapproval, anger even, are understandable reactions to something like this. We’re all very good at disapproving something that we would NEVER do ourselves, aren’t we?
 Should the “witness” or “onlooker” even have raised the issue in the media? Should someone’s mistake or decision be reported upon? Should it even be the topic of our conversation?
 Well YES, actually.
  Events like this DO need to be discussed, because we DO need to raise awareness of the frequency of such events.  We do need to highlight just how easily a car can be stolen, or indeed go on fire, or how easily a baby can choke… We DO need to sometimes remind people of the DANGERS or possible CONSEQUENCES of their actions.  We SHOULD be able to promote awareness and have conversation about things that need to stop; Not strapping kids in is a common one. It does my head in. ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ 
But, we DON’T need to attack or judge.
Shake your head.  Tut.  Disapprove… These are NORMAL reactions.
But, if your reaction causes you to ATTACK and SLATE the morals, ethics, parenting and CHARACTER of the person, you are no longer raising awareness.  
You are bitching. 

You are attacking. 

You are out of fecking order.
And if it isn’t something that you would say DIRECTLY to the face of the person in question, DON’T TYPE IT.
I’m not defending her. 

But I’m not judging her either, because I don’t know her. I don’t know her circumstances. I don’t have any authority on parenting.  I’m a disaster myself most of the time. ๐Ÿ˜…
If anything, I hope that if she HAS read the comments, that MAYBE she’ll think about the possible dangers of what she did…and I hope she’s OK. 
Because Sweet Jeebus on a stick, people can be nasty.
Don’t be a Sanctimammy.

Don’t be a Keyboard Coward.
And don’t bitch about someone you don’t know.
Shnot nice. ๐Ÿ˜ฃ๐Ÿ˜ฃ

I am Still Juggling Mum

Tonight, I am on the hard stuff. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚


What am I celebrating? 

Life. 

 Normality. 

    And me.
I’m fecking celebrating ME.๐Ÿ˜‰
Because although most of the time, I feel like I am juggling WAY too many china plates, all of which I’m certain are going to crash down around me,  I’ve realised that I haven’t dropped one yet. 

Why?

Because I’m a good juggler?

Because I have lots of help?

Because I’m Amazing?

Well, partially yes to all of these, ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚but the MAIN reason I have yet to drop one of them, is because they’re all far too precious and important to drop.
We’re all juggling.

Some of us juggle better than others. 

Sometimes, the trick is to know which plates to put down for a while.

Sometimes, we have to ask for help because we have way too many things in the air and we know that something is going to come crashing down.

Sometimes, we need to set everything down for just a few minutes, take a breath and start again, picking up only the most important plates…prioritising.
Like every Mammy, I wear a LOT of hats. 

I’m a teacher.

I’m a writer.

I’m an assistant director.

I’m an organiser.

I’m a performer.
But first and foremost I’m a wife and I’m a Mammy.
February is always a busy month for me as we build up to opening whichever musical we’re doing each year.  (We, as in both me AND The Him.)  

This February, I thought I was keeping it all between the ditches, and then the inevitable happened.

  Shit started to go wrong.๐Ÿ˜ฃ
My Baby got sick.

Thankfully, she’s in much better form now, but her becoming unwell, threw extra stress and mayhem into my already busy headspace.

A few other things happened too; nothing to complain about in the scheme of things, but when you’re already sleep deprived and shattered, these little things become bigger don’t they?

I got sick.

I started to let things (and people) that wouldn’t usually even REGISTER in my head as important, get to me.

And then, to top it all, Work has promised to go into overdrive for the next month.
I did what every Mammy does when the shit hits the fan. ๐Ÿ˜†๐Ÿ˜ถ๐Ÿ˜ฃ

I laughed and then I completely ignored everything other than my babies for a few days.

And it worked.
This morning, The Him let me sleep until I WOKE. 

10AM.

TEN.

O.

CLOCK…
And I swear to Peppa, it’s made all the difference. 
Yes, I’m up to my tiny titties.

Yes, I will he for the next month.

But, I’m very aware that I shall get on with it all.

And I’m very grateful to have all of the plates I have in the air.

They’re my plates… my girls, my Him, my job, my musical, my blog, my writing… all mines.

I’ll pull up my Big Girl knickers, slap on my smile, and I’ll start ploughing through my To-Do list like a gang of glammymammies get through a bottle of grapes.
So tonight, yes, I’m drinking bubbles.

I’m updating my website, I’m planning the finale of our wizard of Oz, I’m sitting in my pjs with The Him flat out working beside me, and I’m saying a Big Fat CHEERS to myself, because some days, you have to pat yourself on the back for being so fecking awesome and wonderful.

Because we are you know?

We’re supermums.
Happy Sunday night Ladybelles.

Keep ‘er lit.

And celebrate you.

๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–

I am Some things I once thought Mumย 

10 things I thought before I had kids
1. I shall never shout at my child:  Oh you will you know.  Actually, itโ€™s more a case of shouting at yourself really, because if you are having to shout at all, chances are that youโ€™ve reached that wonderful stage where the little minions have decided to ignore every single fricken word you say, until you are screaming it at the top of your lungs like a mad woman.  And do you know what else? Even THEN, theyโ€™ll probably not listen to you.
2. I shall love my child unconditionally always.  Yes,  indeed.  But that doesnโ€™t mean that you have to LIKE them unconditionally or always.  
3. I will never have to deal with a tantrum in a shop:  Oh yes you will.  The 30 seconds of your Minionโ€™s meltdown will feel like an HOUR and even though no one is looking at you, you will feel like the entire shop has stopped specifically to watch your little Hell Demon throw his strop.  You will burn a new shade of crimson that you never even considered possible, and you will discover dexterity and wrestling skills that you didnโ€™t know you possessed as you wrangle the wriggler out the door.  And yes, you will growl through gritted teeth and swear that youโ€™ll NEVER leave the house again.  
4. I will only feed them healthy, nutritious, organic home-cooked meals:  For the most part, we all manage this one, most of the time…mostly.  But trust me, Freezer Fridays are a thing and Leftovers are a blessing in disguise. I write my weekly meal planner on the fridge most Sundays.  At the beginning of the week, it makes me feel like Iโ€™m the bestest Mammy ever.  By Friday, it reminds me of just how hilarious I can be sometimes.๐Ÿ˜‚ But hey!  They get fed donโ€™t they? 

 Most days. 
5. I will never be manipulated by a toddler: Yes, yes you will.  And even when you are using the bribery and blackmail (that you swore youโ€™d never resort to), youโ€™re still being manipulated by the minion.  And this is not reserved for toddlers.  Signs of parental manipulation can appear as early as Day 3 of your babyโ€™s life, when they learn that if they make a certain noise, youโ€™ll react.  And it never ends.  Our kids manipulate us foreverโ€ฆ My Daddy loves me most you know. ๐Ÿ˜‰๐Ÿ˜‰
6. I will bath them every night:  Ok, some parents DO manage this one.  If you are a Daily bathermum, I salute you and am in awe.  I NEVER got into this habit.  There are 3 reasons that mine get bathed.  

A) Itโ€™s the weekend

B) Theyโ€™re so rotten that I have no choice but to wash them if I want to keep up the facade that I have my shit together.

C) In the event of a Poonami or a Pukenado.
7.I will never swear in front of my children:  Yeah, good luck with that one. ๐Ÿ˜‚ Try not to swear AT your children.  That should be reserved for special occasions, but swear in front of them, you shall. And do you know when youโ€™ll realise it?  When they repeat what youโ€™ve said at full volume in front of the WRONG person, you know, like the local priest or the PHN, or the School Principal, or…a Sanctimammy.  And sometimes, as mortified as you are, youโ€™ll be slightly proud that they have used the expletive in the correct context.
8.No other child is as special as mine:  This one is true.  My children are the most special in the world…to me. ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–

 

9.Being a parent canโ€™t be that hard. Everyone does it:  hahahahahahhahahahhahahahhahahah.  Yes, everyone does it. And most of those everyones at SOME point wonder WHY they did!
10. I will never turn into That Mammy:  Oh my Darling.  Yes.  Yes you  will.  Every one of us has an inbuilt ability to be THAT Mammy.  Youโ€™ll surprise yourself.  
I’m sure you could add your own on this Fablis Feck-it-up Friday. Happy Weekend Ladybelles xxx

I am Share Positive Birth Stories Mum

โ€‹I had a conversation yesterday with my friend who is due her first baby at Easter.
She’s glowing and beautiful and excited, but she’s frightened beyond belief.
She was telling me how terrified she is and how she’s had to stop reading forums because the horror stories she’s read. 

And she’s right.
As with all areas of life, we tend to tell the dramatic or nightmare stories of childbirth, before we share the positive ones.
Giving birth is terrifying whether it’s your first time or your 6th, but it is also the most natural thing in the world, isn’t it? Our bodies are designed for it.  Women have been giving birth for millions of years. And yet, it’s also perfectly natural to be completely terrified. It’s new. It’s unpredictable. It’s painful.

Usually, unless there are complications or you run into difficulties, most Mammas manage to bring their little minions into the world without too much drama. ๐Ÿ’™โค
So let’s help my lovely Glammy Mammy out and share some birth stories WITHOUT the horror stories.
I’ll begin…
Both of my births were by scheduled C-Section, for medical reasons and well called by my Consultant. Both were painful, with their own complications and recovery, but both resulted in birth.  
And as much as no one wants surgery on top of childbirth, I have to say that both were calm and positive and (dare I say), enjoyable, and that I was looked after beautifully by the midwives at Letterkenny University Hospital.
And as unwell as I felt, and as terrified as I was, and as painful the recoveries, both were worth every single ache and pain.๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–
So there you go.  Nothing overly eventful Thank god.
(And if you’re currently wanting to slap me and grumbling about how crap YOUR experience was, let me clarify that my last one was so “enjoyable” that I’ve sworn NEVER to do it again, but I AM focusing on the positives here and I salute you Mamma. You are a Goddess and you are Supermum, but let’s not terrify her anymore than she already is. ๐Ÿ˜˜)
Did you have a positive birth experience? If you did, share it below and help me convince my Buddy that it’s not all rips and stitches and poo and pain…
If you’d like to share your positive story, feel free. You can pop over to my facebook page @the.s.mum to share on my daily blog there.
Come on Mamma Squad.
Let’s spread the love this Valentine’s.

โคโคโคโค

I am sunday Mornings Mumย 

โ€‹”I just LOVE 6am starts with my precious minions, especially on a Sunday, after 4 consecutive nights of no sleep and sick baby.” #soblessed #sundaysnuggles #earlymorningsareTHEBEST
#shutthefuckup
6am: 1 hour and 13 minutes after your last trip to her room, and you hear the grumble of the monitor AGAIN. It’s still dark. You know you haven’t been sleeping long enough for it to be morning already. You hear the whine, or groan, or snuffle from the monitor and you hold your breath, hoping to Christ she’s simply lost her dodey and will go back over.  I don’t know why you hold your breath, but you do.  And you don’t move a muscle because you KNOW that she will sense your movement from the next room and you will basically be giving her permission to wake up fully if you breath…or move.
She goes quiet for about 30 seconds.  You’re JUST exhaling when you hear the “CRAAAASH!” as the Dummy is fecked onto the floor, followed by her feigned shocked tone as she announces “uh oh! DOOOOOODEEEEE?”  

Feck.

Then, a few minutes later, it comes, clear as an alarm clock…”MAAAAMMEEEEE”. 

Game over.
Regardless of what other tricks you have up your sleeve; popping the dummy back in her mouth, bringing her into your bed for snoozes, praying; you and she BOTH know that she’s won. You have only ONE other chance of getting another hour of sleep.

One chance.

One possibilty…

But then you look over at the big Gobshite, who is either genuinely in a fucking coma, or just doing a MARVELLOUS job of pretending he doesn’t hear your swearing and grumbling or the brass band now battering in the next room, and you KNOW you have about as much chance of Ryan Gosling turning up at your door and whisking you off for a 3 week holiday in the Maldives where he plays the piano and sings to you, while Jamie Dorian feeds you grapes all day long…
So just to make sure Gobshite Boy KNOWS how fecking AMAZING you are for dragging your arse ljt of bed for the 4th time since you got into it, you quietly and subtly SNEAK out of bed, tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, leaving him to his slumber…

Or, you dramatically THROW the duvet off BOTH of you, sighing and grumbling things like “FINE. I’LL get up AGAIN shall I? Watch now in case Mammy MIGHT get a FUCKING SLEEP.  YOU SLEEP ON THERE DARLING. DON’T LET YOUR KNACKERED WIFE OR YOUR 2 LITTLE DARLINGS DISTURB YOU THERE NOW WILL YOU.” And just for fear, he hasn’t realised that youre a tad annoyed, give the door a good SLAM as you leave your beloved to roll back over.

He’s knackered too God Love Him.

All that sleeping has him SHATTERED.
But being the martyr you are, you stagger to the kitchen, baby on hip, minion skipping beside you. Yes. Skipping. At 6.13am.
You change nappies, pour milk, feed minions, turn on Scoobyfuckingdoo and make coffee, which you don’t even get to drink. You try to be optimistic and think about #sundaysnuggles but your little Darlings don’t DOOOOO snuggles. They prefer to ignore you except for snarling for food, pull out toys and saucepans, and terrorise each other.  The only way you can guarantee snuggles is if you dare look like you’re taking a snooze. Then, they’re on top of you until they’re convinced that you are awake and alert enough for them to ignore you again. ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡


And all the while, Sanctimammy in your head is thinking, “They are perfect. I am a wonderful 6am earth Mamma and they are precious and I really do love watching them play. And my Darling Him needs a lie in really. Who needs sleep anyway? #soblessed” 

But the REAL Mammy is thinking “Me. ME. THAT’S who needs a sleep. Me. And of course I love to watch them play, but only after 8.30am, you know, in ACTUAL DAYTIME? And FECK Him the Big snoring Twat. I deserve a sleep-in this morning soooooo much more than he does. Gobshite. #soblessedmyarse #FML”
Anyway, a coffee shall fix everything no doubt.
You may as well do a load of washing. You’re up now anyway. But then you remember there’s cake in the fridge…and suddenly all is right with the world.
Of course, things could be worse Mamma Bear, but you know what? That doesn’t mean that you can’t have a grumble does it?

๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜๐Ÿ˜˜

I am Simple letter to my Birthday Girl Mumย 

โ€‹Dear Mini-Me 
5.

FIVE.

Holy Jemima…where did that go? 
I’ve just tucked you in after your special day.  You’re creamcrackered and tucked up between your new Trolls dolls, so I’m guessing that there’ll be no sleep for the next hour or so anyway. 

It’s been a busy day, filled with fun and family and presents and cake.
Mammy did her very best to make it perfect.

To make it memorable.

To make you have the most wonderful day ever.
This birthday is particularly important to Mammy.  Why? Because I remember when I turned 5.  I remember it vividly. It’s probably one of my clearest early memories.

I remember wakening up that morning and just KNOWING that it was a big deal.  I was 5. Finally. I was the SAME age as my two best friends. The same age as my cousin Karen. And more importantly, I was FINALLY older than your uncle Danny again! It was really annoying being the same age as him for 3 weeks each year.  

Being 5 fixed that. ๐Ÿ˜‚
I had made it.  I was 5.  I remember Granda saying “Where’s my big 5 year old?”, and hugging me, (just like your Daddy did you this morning), and feeling sooooooo grown up. 
I remember getting a Nurse’s costume and a little Nurse’s set and I decided there and then I would be a Nurse when I grew up.  That changed. And that’s OK. You’ll change your mind too. Today, you want to be a farmer and a Superhero. You can do whatever you want to be.  

Because you’re brilliant.
I remember having 3 friends come over after school for cake.  I remember Granny and Granda coming for tea. I remember going to bed that night, wondering what would happen tomorrow, now that I was the grand old age of 5.  I remember thinking that it had been the best birthday ever…

Because it was. 

I don’t remember anything else, except the good things.

I’m sure there were squabbles. I’m sure I was told off once or twice.  I’m sure there were moments of that perfect day that were normal and ordinary and maybe even crappy, but my memory (with the help of my mum and dad) only allowed the happy to stay in my mind.
And I hope and pray that this will be the same for you, when you look back on YOUR 5th birthday someday. ๐Ÿ’–
And I hope that you are as lucky as your Mammy has been to have your own little buddy by then.

And that you too try to make her 5th birthday a happy one.

Because I did try. And I hope I succeeded.
I even tried extra hard to NOT scold or give out to you because it’s your birthday.  I did OK. Yes, we had that wee row before bedtime. But I’ve already said I’m sorry and that I love you and tried to explain that you have to TRY to listen to me sometimes.  I know I shouldn’t have scolded on your special day, but Mammy is sometimes quite terrible and grumpy and needs a kick up the arse.  And believe me, Mammy felt quite shitty afterwards. It’s OK though, because we had a talk and a cuddle and read a story and talked about the day you were born and I’ve told you all the things I love about you, so I hope that has helped you go to bed knowing that I love you so much it sometimes hurts. ๐Ÿ˜ฅ

Because I do.๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–
I love your face, your beautiful eyes, your little nose, those rosebud lips, your voice, your gangly limbs, your humour, your wit and that kind and sensitive little heart which I try every day to strengthen and build up, although sometimes I feel like I do nothing but break it. 

And someday, you’ll be a Mammy too and you’ll understand exactly what I mean.
You’ve had a nice day. You’ve felt like you’re the centre of the universe for a day. And even your sister being sick and grumpiful all afternoon didn’t upset you did it? 

Because you won’t remember that anyway will you? 

Because with her, all you see is love and fun.

And I hope that lasts forever.

Because this ๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡ THIS little birthday hug right here๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡๐Ÿ‘‡, is all that matters in the world, to you, to her and to us.


So if you read this, whether you’re 15 or 35, remember whatever you can about your 5th birthday and do me a favour? Ring me or visit and tell me about it.  
Oh, and go hug your sister.

You’re never too old for that. ๐Ÿ’–๐Ÿ’–
Happy birthday my Mini-Me 

You Mamma Bear x

Xxxxxxxxx