Stop It.

Don’t.

Just Don’t.

I’ve written about this before but it seems that it’s like non-parents parking in mother and baby spots, or people feeling the need to comment on how your baby is fed; it doesn’t go away!

STOP ASKING PEOPLE when they’re going to start a family or going to ‘go again’.

I know people don’t mean any harm when they insist on telling you that you should “be going again” or “getting a move on”, and yet often, these innocently thrown statements can stab a couple through the heart.

Firstly, why do people think it’s OK to assume that everyone wants to have more Babies?

Or actually, even A baby for that matter?

Many people make the conscious decision that parenthood is not for them; that they are quite fulfilled and happy as they are.

You do you Boo.

Then there are the people who, no sooner have you popped out little Charlie or Nancy, but they’re telling you it’s time to get working on Jeremiah or Jezebel.

Why, oh WHY, do people think that it’s OK to ASK why a couple aren’t “going for number 3″… or 4, or 8?

And can I ask why people think it’s acceptable to write under someone’s FB or Instagram post of a photograph of themselves, such utter nonsense as “Oooooh is that a Baby Bump I see?” or “Am I seeing some news coming?” or “Is congratulations in order?”

THIS is PARTICULARLY not OK.People who write such twatwittery should be locked in a room with Boris and a can of hair gel and not allowed out until one or both of them understands Brexit.

And as for the people who tease a newly married couple, or indeed ANY childless couple, about ‘getting a move on’, well that is just a whole other level of silly beggar.

Footprints+in+the+sand-squarespace

Here are 6 reasons to NOT comment on a couple’s NON pregnant state:

1. It’s none of your business.

2. You don’t know their situation. You don’t know if they’ve had a miscarriage recently. People don’t generally go around announcing that do they? In fact, we good Irish still fall into the trap of thinking that we aren’t allowed to tell anyone until the sacred 12 week mark, and so when things go wrong, couples often have no one to share their grief or help them through it.

3. 1 in 6 Irish couples currently struggle with fertility. How do you know if the person you are innocently teasing about “going for another one” or “filling that big house” isn’t one of those couples?

You don’t know if they’re trying EVERYTHING and being constantly heartbroken.

You don’t know if she’s injecting herself daily, undergoing physical and emotional and mental turmoil to try to help matters.

You don’t know if he’s struggling with the fact that his sperm count is low.

You don’t know if they’ve put every penny they have (and don’t have) into rounds of treatment, over and over again.

You don’t know how deep your playful, well-intentioned words can cut. And oh my Gosh, do they cut deep…

4. Not EVERY couple WANTS to have a baby, or another Baby. For their own reasons. That they don’t have to explain to you.

And when a couple tells you that they’re all done or quite happy with their lot thank you, do NOT raise your eyebrow in a smug and all-knowing, “we’ll see” or tut at their ‘nonsense’. You’re in murky waters now and you need to paddle back Dear. Paddle fast…

5. Maybe that couple are in the process of adoption, or surrogacy. Maybe that couple are at breaking point, physically and emotionally and maybe…

6. …it’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

Of course people mean no harm when we joke about “filling that big car” or “getting a wee brother for Nancy”, but like all things Parent related, innocent comments and harmless questions can cut through people like a bolt of lightning.

We shouldn’t comment. End of.

So next time you find yourself about to joke or jest or ask someone about the state of their baby situation, consider this: If they asked you about the state or your uterus, or indeed your sperm situation, how would you feel?

Would you be comfortable if that person sighed and answered with “Well actually, we’re on our third round of IVF and we’re emotionally and physically exhausted and I’d love to tell you about it”?

Or if they said, “Well actually, we’ve had three miscarriages in the last 18 months” or “Well no, becuase we’re pretty sure we won’t be together this time next year.”

If you would be able to deal with those answers, you possibly know the person well enough to know not to ask anyway.

If not, don’t ask and don’t comment.

 

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Simples.

Blue Peter Badge Required…

Does anyone have any spare Blue Peter badges lying around?

Anyone?

Because apparently I should be doling them out on the hour, every hour, today.

Instead I have resorted to hissing things like “Oh you did did you?” and “Yeah like I do EVERY FUCKING DAY!”, (under my breath obviously.)

Until approximately 5pm when we pulled up outside a supermarket… When Mammy may or may not have LOST the fricken PLOT.

You see, we had driven to the supermarket in the silent understanding that we needed to acquire foodstuff for the dinner.

This genius deduction arose from Daddy asking “Did you get anything in for the dinner?” to which Mammy answered “I don’t know, did YOU get anything in for the dinner?”

You see, the fridge is empty. And quite frankly, so is Mammy. I’m burnt out and tired and so, having clawed my way to the weekend, am happily rejoicing in the NOTHINGNESS and UNTHINKINGNESS that cometh with spending a weekend with my beloved family and my beloved Husband…

Having made every decision and organised all the everything for the past, oh, I don’t know, eleventy fucking billion YEARS, Mammy mistakenly thought that it MIGHT just be possible for someone ELSE to figure out what the feck we might eat for “the dinner” for ONE NIGHT.

Mammy, it turns out, was mistaken.

Up pulls Himself to the supermarket.
He stops the car and says “Go on”, indicating that Mammy should pop in and pick up something.

“Sorry what?” growls Mammy.
“Go ahead. I’ll wait here with Princess.” (Snoring in the back seat)
“What exactly am I Going in for?” snarls Mammy. (warning warning…)
“The dinner?” answers Daddy, a slow realisation dawning on his handsome face that he might just have pulled the pin form the grenade.
“And what exactly will “the dinner” consist of?” hisses Mammy
“I don’t know” answers Daddy
“Well if YOU don’t know, how the FUCK should I know?”
“You were the one who said go to the shop.” he tries, knowing already that he is not winning this one…

Calculating that Mammy’s current level of hormental is probably not worth the weeks of sleeping with one eye open that may follow should he continue on this tirade of fuckwittery, he concedes that he shall go into the supermarket.

And so the valiant gallant knight in fucking Underarmour that he is, dismounted his trusty steed, puffed up his manly chest and announced that he was “going in then”…

And in he did go. (accompanied by Mini-Me who knows to supervise incase he buys a chainsaw to go with the power washer.) And out he did come with a bag of sustenance with which to feed his family, muttering something about having to “do everything”…

Which Mammy ignored as Mammy had had a full 8 minutes of quiet time, to take deep breaths and wonder just how I could go about getting a box of Blue Peter Badges for the fucking hero that he is…

(I do love him really though.)
*(may be slightly exaggerated for entertainment purposes. :))

Reposting – Because Anxiety Doesn’t Go Away

Grab a cuppa Ladybelles… it’s a long one today.

It’s #Worldmentalhealthday so I’m reposting!

💙💙 My little Bitch, Anxiety💙💙

Being a Mammy is hard.

Everything changes.

Your body. Your home. Your routine. Your relationship. Your friendships. Your mind.
Everything.

But it’s worth it. It’s soooooo worth it.

Yes, you’ll experience exhaustion like you’ve never imagined.

Yes, your hormones will be a mess for a few months (I’d argue forever more, but I’m no expert!).

Yes, life will never be the same again, but the love and the joys generally outweigh the negatives.

And while you might feel like you’ve lost “you” on your journey to bring another human into world, YOU WILL return, a better, stronger, more wonderful version of yourself.

Before I had my Mini-Me, I thought I was on top of things.

I’d never really struggled with my thoughts, with my mind. I could sleep when I was tired. When I went to bed at night, my brain generally allowed me to sleep. I lead a ridiculously busy life and I felt invincible.

We were over the moon to find out that she was on her little way, and began painting and shopping and all the rest.

Then, at 16 weeks, my heart decided it was going to misbehave and landed me in hospital. It misbehaved for the duration of my pregnancy. I was put off work for the remainder, I had to give up so many things that I loved: my exercise, the show I was choreographing and (gasp) caffeine. I went from being Everyone’s “reliable somebody”, to sitting on my ever expanding bum at home…

The world carried on around me…
For the first time in my life, I struggled.

It was only 5 years on and another baby later, that I recognised that I was probably, definitely, possibly, certainly dealing with anxiety and I was probably, possibly, definitely, a little bit depressed.

Have I ever been diagnosed with anything? No.
Have I ever told my Doctor I was struggling? No.
(I was afraid they’d take the baby off me. Ridiculous eh?)

Can I say categorically that I have struggled with my mental health, both after and during pregnancy?
Yes.

For the first time ever, I can say it, or rather, I can write it.
In the same way that I now know, The Him knew. My Mum probably knew. My sister has no slows on her.
My closest friends probably knew. But of course, because I pretended that I was fine, no one said anything out loud.
I convinced everyone around me, and myself, that of course I was fine.

I’ve still never said it to a Doctor. I have however said it to my Husband. And the day that I told him that I was struggling and that I didn’t know what exactly was wrong with me, things began to get better.

I still have shit days. Who doesn’t?

And even though I know on certain days that I have NOTHING to be sad about, it doesn’t stop me being sad. There are still days and weeks where, regardless of how wonderful my life is, (and it is mostly!), I can’t see past the great big clouds that seem to be getting in the way of my sunshine a little bit.

I’ve come to realise that that is not just me.
That is life.

But I’m learning how I need to deal with it, for me, as me.

I’m feeling good now. I can honestly say that 18 months after Princess was born, was when I finally started feeling like the old me again.
Physically and emotionally.

But the anxiety is always there.
She lurks.
She fizzes through me, usually when I’m not stressed, ironically enough. It seems that adrenalin and stress keeps her at bay, and then when things are sailing along nicely and I’m physically relaxing, she bubbles from my tummy, right into the tips of my fingers and it stays there until she’s done.

How do I deal with her?

Writing. My blog has been my therapy, even when I didn’t understand that it was. Also, for me, exercise, walking and music … and telling My Him.

Getting outside helps…cliched but true.

Even saying the words “I’m anxious and I don’t know why” makes it OK. Once I know that it’s not just me, in my head, it’s easier to batter that little bitch back into her box.

She’ll never go away. She’ll sit in the box and wait until she senses my weakness again, until life seems quiet and good and this Mammy thinks she’s got her shit together again.

And then she’ll pop up and say “Ahahahahha! Oh no you don’t Madam”…

And if I think back over the years, she’s always been there. Hindsight is 20:20 isn’t it?

I just didn’t recognise who she was. I thought she was low blood sugar, or exhaustion, or stress.

She was actually panic attacks and I was just so ridiculously sure of my own mental health that I didn’t recognise her.

Why do I say “she” and not “it”?

Because how I feel is not an IT.

My feelings are part of ME. But these particular feelings are not only ME, they are a different, unwelcome little PART of me, and so I will refer to her as She, because it makes me feel like I’m in charge.

I’m not afraid of her. I’m just sometimes influenced by her negativity. But I will not give her a name.

She’s not THAT significant. And just like my two minions, I’m in control of her…mostly!

I’m not sure if this makes sense. Maybe it doesn’t.

And I’m very aware that someone who has suffered and been diagnosed properly with such issues, might be tutting at my ramblings, but all I can do is say how I have felt and how I feel sometimes.

I’m not saying that I understand depression or anxiety. I’m simply saying that just because a Doctor has never typed it in someone’s notes, it doesn’t mean they haven’t dealt with it.

Was it becoming a Mum that brought it to light? Yeah, probably.

And a few other things over the last few years made me re-evaluate important parts of, and people in, my life.

Mammies are afraid that admitting weakness makes us weak. One of my most empowering moments, as a Mammy, as a wife, and as a woman, was realising that admitting weakness gives me strength.

“There’s strength in numbers”.
“A problem shared is a problem halved etc”. Clichés yes, But there’s truth in most clichés, isn’t there?

And so there we go.

The post I never thought I would write. Because S-Mum has NEVER suffered from mental health problems. Officially. On the record. I’ve never been diagnosed, but yes I have struggled. Show me someone who hasn’t…

Maybe there is nothing to diagnose now, but in the past, if I had only had the guts, or in my case, the cop on, to realise or admit that things weren’t right, a doctor might have said the words out loud.

Who knows?
She might some day.

And so be it. Because it’s about time that we, mums especially, should be able to admit that sometimes, it’s not all simply a phase.
Sometimes, it’s not just tiredness. Sometimes, it’s not just hormones.
Sometimes, it’s something more and sometimes, we need help.

I’m not qualified to counsel, or diagnose, or treat. I am not a psychologist. I am not a Doctor. I am not a councillor. I’m not going to suggest that just because I’ve come to realise that I have a little Bitch called Anxiety to batter every so often, that I am an expert.
Of course I won’t. That would be ridiculous.

Just because you’ve sat in a Ferarri doesn’t mean you can fix one does it?

NO, so just because someone has experienced something, that doesn’t mean they know what YOU should do to fix YOU.

But if you feel that you can empathise with a little too much of what I’ve written, please ask for help.

Tell someone you’re struggling. Be strong and admit that you feel weak.

Say it out loud. It won’t sound as ridiculous as you think it will.

And you’re allowed to be weak. No one is strong all of the time.

And do you see that little Bitch Anxiety?

She’s only as strong as we let her be.

She’s like a bully. If one person stands up to her, she stands her ground, but when she sees that you have back up, she’ll soon retreat to her box.

So ask for back up.

And put that bitch in her box.

anxiety pic

FAIL…First Attempt In Learning

Failing to Fail…

Why are we so determined to make sure our little darlings never know what it’s like to fail?

Why do we expect everyone to be a high flying “success” at everything?

When did failing at something become so terrible?

I grew up failing. I failed plenty. I failed often.

I’m still failing.And yet, each and every one of those failings was, and is, a learning.

Sometimes, no matter how many times I try and try and try at something, I fail.

Maybe I’m not meant to do it.
Maybe I’m not good enough at it.
Maybe, it’s not within my skill-set.
Maybe, someone else is better than me…

If it’s not happening, I have two choices; I can keep going until I (maybe) do succeed.

Or I can be proud that I tried but move on to another project, accepting that it’s just not going to happen.

But either way, I’ve learned something.

I’ve either learned the right or successful way to do something, or I’ve learned something about ME; about my abilities and my limitations.

Because, it’s OK to have limitations.And shock horror, it’s OK to know what YOUR Limitations are.

It’s actually quite liberating.

If children don’t run, they won’t fall… so how will they learn NOT to?

There is a massive problem in our society and it’s not just with our children.

There is and has been for many years, a mistaken perception that we should teach our children that they “can do anything”; that they “can be anything”; that they can not lose or fail at anything.

That failure is NOT an option.Well actually it is.

And I’d go so far as to say that failure is necessary.

The fear of failure is everywhere.

None of us want our children to experience rejection or failure.

It’s evident at the school sports days, where we make them “race” and “compete” but then give them ALL a certificate or medal.

We see it in dance classes or drama groups, where they audition but ALL get onstage anyway.

We see it at football training, or where the only options are “win” or “a tie”, so that no one has to lose.

Of course, equality and inclusion are inherently important in schools and clubs. And most of these societies and organisations have individualized and tailored policies and programes in place to include everyone.

And so they should.

Inclusion is not what I am talking about here.🥰

But when in general, we are not rewarding the “winners” for fear of upsetting the person in 2nd place, or indeed 24th place, what we are creating is a generation who feel entitled.

We need to stop telling our kids that they can be “anything they want to be”.

We should be encouraging our children to try and try.

We should be telling them they can be what they want to be… IF they have that ability and are willing to work for it.

What is wrong with encouraging them to learn what their strengths and passions are?

What is wrong with encouraging them to try and to work to earn and to deserve the end goal, may that be a degree in medicine or a place on the football team?

What is wrong with our children knowing what they are good at and recognising what they are not so good at?

How are they supposed to work towards improving and learning if they simply think they are entitled to an ‘A’ in an exam, or to the place on the team, or to a certain job because they’ve always been told they can be anything or do anything they want to do?

We do not all have the same skills.

We do not all have the same strengths.

I can teach Shakespeare to a brick, but I couldn’t be a math teacher for all the tea in China, no matter HOW much I worked for it.

And I wouldn’t be able to be a Doctor or surgeon, because I am way too emotional for such a job (and I’m probably, actually, certainly not that academically able!)

Does that mean I am a failure?

Eh no.

Every Irish dancing feis I didn’t win, was a lesson. It spurned me on. Every time I saw that a certain ‘Leah’ or ‘Clare’ was there, I knew that I most likely hadn’t a chance of anything higher than 3rd place.

Did that mean I couldn’t dance?NO. I could dance. Still can. 😂

It just meant that those girls were better than me.

They trained harder. They had more talent. They deserved every medal and cup they won. They inspired me to push harder.Sometimes I won, sometimes I didn’t.

It’s called life.

When I tried gymnastics, the day that I gave myself a black eye with my own knee was the day that I decided I was done.

Funnily enough Mum agreed.

Did I fail? No. I was just shite at gymnastics!

When I got average results in my Junior and Leaving Cert, did I feel like a failure?

No. I got what I deserved and I got out what I put in. I had done my best. And as long as I did my best, that was enough for my parents and it was enough for me.

However, when I have won, or achieved or succeeded, it was celebrated.

Because each time, I bust myself and tried and grafted and worked and any other synonym you can imagine.

And if I do succeed, I am proud of it, because the achievement is mine and I have probably failed ten times before managing it.

If you burn the omelette and don’t try to make it again, how do you eat?Every failed friendship I have, (and there are many), while heartbreaking to deal with, have all been for the best.

Every failed romance (yup many of those too😂!) teaches us something else important about ourselves and the person who is not right for us.

Every failed job or project or application or interview teaches us something.

For me, every time I auditioned, and was rejected, for a part in a show, broke my heart a little.

Of course it did (and does). Let’s be honest, if I didn’t want the part, why would I go for it?

But rather than stomp my foot and think myself too good to return, I pulled up my big girl knickers and still joined the group; may it be to a smaller role or into the chorus.

Because I love it.
I don’t have to be the leading lady to have fun.

And our children need to understand that they don’t have to always win to be winners.

That they don’t always have to score the goals to be important to the team.
That even though they are doing their best, sometimes the person beside them is just a little bit better.

And sometimes, THEY will be that person and someone else will lose to them.

When we started to walk, we all fell…And then we learned how NOT to fall.

And eventually we walked, all by ourselves. (And sometimes, we still fall!) If we keep carrying our kids and our young people over every obstacle, how can we expect them to learn how NOT to fall?

Direct them, encourage them, support them.

But let them feel disappointment sometimes. Let them learn to accept the success of others.

And when they DO succeed, celebrate with them.We have to sometimes fail to really appreciate succeeding. We’re not entitled to anything.

We have to work and try and earn things.

Life will not simply give you things because you think you deserve them.

You get out what you put in.

And while we don’t want our kids to repeat our mistakes, we have to let them make their own, so that they walk by themselves.

Who knows? They might even fly…

Mammy

I am September Adjustment Mum

It’s September.

As we all struggle to settle into the craziness that is “routine” with our kids and lives and activities and commitments, we are more susceptible to Mmmy Guilt than ever.

These weeks can be overwhelming for our kids, but guess what?  We are allowed to be overwhemed too.

While most of us are glad of the return to routine, that doesn’t mean it’s a walk in the park.

Adjustments are needed and it takes time to find your groove, so allow yourself the transition time.  It’s not just kids who need to adjust.

And sometime, we are using OTHER people’s measuring sticks to gauge our OWN achievements and failures.

So what IS the Perfect Mum?

 

Baby-wearing Mum, Carry her Mum,

Co-sleeping Mum, Cot-sleeping Mum,

Bedroom of his own Mum,

Still in my bed when she’s 4 Mum,

Who cares as long as he sleeps Mum?

A Disposable Nappy Mum,  Cloth-Nappy Mum,

Dodee Mum, Suck the thumb Mum,

A  baby monitor Mum, Check her twenty times Mum,

Camera in the bedroom Mum,

I’ll hear him if he calls Mum,

Baby-lead weaner Mum, Organic food only Mum,

Puree it myself Mum, Buy it off the shelf Mum,

Feed them anything Mum,  He won’t eat it anyway Mum,

Fish finger Freezer Friday Mum,

Leftovers in my tum Mum

Always positive parenting Mum,

Doing it all in heels Mum,

Never tell them No Mum

Child is in control Mum

Boundaries help them Grow Mum

Nurture them and Love Mum

Ask patience from above Mum

Shower him with kisses Mum,

Temper is in pieces Mum,

Cherish every second Mum,

Will bedtime ever come Mum,

Reading her a story Mum

Playing with his toys Mum

Letting her be bored Mum

Cuppa always cold Mum

Helicopter or Lawnmower Mum?

Let them fall and run Mum,

Breastfeeding Mum, Bottlefeeding Mum,

Whatever as long as they’re fed Mum.

Screaming and exhausted Mum,

Need a shower and pee Mum,

Calm and zen and ‘Got this’ Mum

Stay-at-home with kids Mum,

Go to work, Work from home,

Have to pay the Bills Mum,

Married, single, step-mum,

Co-parenting, need some help Mum,

Foster mum, adopting mum,

Holding on to friends Mum.

Trying Mum, Lost one Mum,

Wish with all my heart for one,

Happy mum, Sad Mum,

Frustrated at myself Mum,

Crying mum, Laughing Mum,

Fitting everything in Mum

Mum Buns, Mum Tums,

Stetchmarks, hormones and Bumps Mum

Afterschool, Sports and Pool, Taxi everyone Mum,

Homework Fun, Housework Done

Trying my best every day mum.

Kids come first,  Mum’s the worst,

Will this bubble ever burst?

Give your kids the love they need

And to the labels give no heed…

mary-poppins-before-770x470

Say what now?

 

I could keep going.

Mums are amazing.  We manage to be many of these Mums at once, but NO ONE can be all of them.

If you are putting yourself under pressure to fit a label that doesn’t fit you, cut it off.

As long as your kids are loved and fed and cared for, you’re doing just fine Mum.

It can’t be perfect all the time, neither can you. But remember that usually, the flaws you see in yourself, are only seen by you.

To your kids, YOU are their Perfect Mum.

And I am the perfect Mum for MY kids…even if you don’t agree with how I do things.