
Stop Asking Questions Mammy


From a Mammy on Mother’s Day
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…
I love you each second of every day.
And even when sometimes I grumble and scold
I hope that you know that even if you’re being bold,
I trust you, I get you, I love you so much
I’ve loved you since the minute I first felt your touch,
(Whether at birth or first meeting, It matters not how
I became your Mammy, I’m your Mammy now.)
My total existence revolves around you;
Your growth and your wellness, everything that you do.
I’m thinking about you, awake and asleep
And even if I’m not with you, please know that I keep
you so close in my heart and always on my mind.
You’re my reason for living, the reason I find
to get up on the mornings where there’s been no sleeping
to keep smiling and going, when I just feel like weeping.
But always, no matter how much I may struggle
The world can be fixed with just one little “cuggle”.
When I look at you sleeping, so pure and calm,
I love you with everything that I am.
I’ll push you, protect you and help you to grow,
I’ll make sure you know all the things you should know.
I’ll keep you as safe as I possibly can
I’ll make sure you know just how proud that I am
To be raising a child who’s so brilliant and clever
and to be your wee Mammy, forever and ever.
So how do I love you, let me count the ways.
Every day Darling, not just on Mother’s Day.”
To a Mammy on Mother’s Day
How to I love thee, well count I cannot,
But I don’t need my numbers to tell you a lot,
I love you for reasons that do not need words,
For the fact that you’re mine since I came to this world.
Because you love me every day and each night,
When I’m being my best, or I’m giving you frights
I know that you sometimes are worried and scared
But you don’t let me see that, You’re too busy being there
When I need you for playtime or stories or songs,
When I call in the night, and you carry me long,
long into the hours where we should be asleep,

When I hide from the monsters or cry or hurt deep.
When I eat all my dindins or throw it you
When I giggle and cry, when you’re covered in poo.
It really doesn’t matter what I do or I say,
You are my Mammy and I’ll simply love you always.
Much love to all the Mammies of any Babbies, all over the world.
The S-Mum xxxx

As Mothers, we experience many, many, many fears…
Fear during pregnancy.
Fear of birth.
Fear every day…
But once a year, in early March, for many of us, there is a special fear.
It’s the fear of realising that it’s World Book Day…and you’ve sent your children off to school in NORMAL clothes.
This morning, I managed to get the girls out to school with unusual calm and minimal drama. I dropped them at pre-school and to the bus, and tottered on my merry, knackered way on to my other job-job.
I parked the car and reached for my phone to have a quick peek at my messages before going into the building. I hit the Insta icon, and speed scrolled absent mindedly… and then I saw them.
ALL of them…
All of the eleventy squillion images of kids I know and don’t know, dressed in all sorts of book characters, from Mr Twit to Mary-of-the-Poppins.
“FAAAAAAAACK!” I shout at my phone.
“FAAAACKIITTY FUCK FUCK!”
I scramble through my brain for faint memories of an unread message from the school about dressing up. Nope.
I try to remember if I saw a conversation about costumes on the parenty ‘Wattsup’ group… I really can’t.
I then have the tummy wrenching realisation that as a “Working-at-a-job-job Mum” who has just returned from a 4 day work trip 8734 miles away, that maybe, just MAYBE I have simply fucked up and MISSED something.
The Fear is real.
And the Mammy guilt that is already strong this week has multiplied ten fold.
I send a message to the parents group begging “Were the kids supposed to dress up today?” followed by “By which I mean, please tell me that they kids WERE NOT supposed to dress up today!?”
Even as I type, I am trying to figure out how I can get her Harry Potter costume transported from the house to the school in the next 14 minutes.
I’m trying to gauge if I could get to Penneysbest at break time to buy a stripy jumper to make her Wally, or an oversized fluffy jacket to make her The Gruffallo. Then I realise that the only Wally is me.
Just as I’m practising my “Sure you were Matilda Darling” speech for this evening, one of the other Mammy angels replies with “No costumes!”
I swear to God, the relief left me dizzy. I realised I was sweating like Mr Wormwood in a confessional box. My breathing was faster than Hermione’s when someone broke a rule. I was paler than Horrid Henry when, well… you get me yeah?
I had The World Book Day Costume Fear!
But, I fear that the only Wally on this World Book Day, was Mammy.
Sanctimammy
Noun – A Mammy who believes that her way of parenting is the correct and proper way; judging and dismissing other Mums who do not parent as she parents.
Adj – Sanctimammious

‘Live and Let live’ they say. But once you dip your toe into the world of Parenthood, that seems to change for some people. It becomes ‘Do as I do, Think as I think’. There is no area in our lives which can cause heightened levels of self-doubt and self-criticism as parenting. And often, it is the outright self-righteousness and shared opinions of other parents which makes us doubt ourselves.
Have you ever been asked something about your child, only to have an eyebrow raised, or a lip pursed at your reply? Have you ever been nervous of telling someone how YOU do things, because you know that they do it differently?
We all have. We’ve all been there.
Parenting styles and beliefs and practices vary, not just in countries, or counties or communities, but within homes. For twenty houses in an estate or on a road, there will be twenty different parenting styles happening at once. But here’s the thing.
Just because you do things differently, doesn’t make you better.
Just because you work AND have kids, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who is working her ass off at home.
Just because you’re able to stay at home with your Puking minion, doesn’t make you a better Mum than the Mum who had no choice but to leave hers with Granny, because she couldn’t get off work.
Just because you Breastfeed your baby, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who, for WHATEVER reason, has to (or choses to) Bottle feed. You don’t know why they can’t (or don’t) breast feed. You don’t have to. It’s none of your business.
Just because you use organic, reusable nappies, you are not superior to the Mammy who stocks up on Packets.
Just because your Baby sleeps well, does not mean that the Mum who hasn’t slept for 14 months is less brilliant than you.
Just because you’ve decided to wean your Baby by the guidance of some book, feeding Quinoa and avocado and peppers, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who feeds her kid mashed potato and gravy, or (shock horror!) fishfingers and waffles.
Just because your little Japonica goes to 5 activities a week at 11 months old, does not make you a better Mum than Jacinta next door, who can just about leave the house to do the shopping, because her PND is so crippling that she can’t breath.
Just because you gave birth without drugs, in a calm and wonderful experience, does not make you a better Mum than the lady who has had 3 sections.

Now, I am NOT saying that you shouldn’t make an effort to do what’s best and what’s healthy for your baby. What I am saying is that what YOU deem right and important, might not be the same as another Mum. Our priorities are all different. And that’s OK
Every Mum does what SHE has to do for HER family. And the only person who knows what is right for your family is YOU.
You don’t know another Mum’s circumstance. You don’t know her. You don’t know if she’s happy, or watching you getting into your car to go to work, longing to be you.
You don’t know if she’s driving to work in tears because her Baby cried again as she was dropping him off.
You don’t know how many times a day the Mammy in the office feels a gutwrenching guilt at being away.
You don’t know how the Mum in her kitchen is longing for a conversation.
You don’t know how much the Mum who has to pay bills rather than pay for Baby swim classes longs to be able to sign her baby up.
You don’t know how much time and effort that Mum, looks fab at the school gate, took to just get out the door this morning because she cried all night.
You don’t know how much the Mum who seems to have it all, wishes that she had something else.
You don’t know how much the Mum who is mixing up formula berates herself.
You don’t know Jack sh*t.
As long as your children are fed, and loved and looked after, you’re doing great.
How we parent our children, is nobody’s business but our own. And what other Mums think of your parenting, is absolutely none of YOUR business.
And if you EVER hear yourself dismissing or tutting at another Mammy because she’s doing it differently to you, lift your hand, grab a wooden spoon and hit yourself a good hard slap on the arse with it.
No one likes a Sanctimammy.
Mammy loves the Babywipes.
Every parent loves the Babywipes, don’t they?
We really should thank the Inventor of the Babywipes.
Apparently, the first Babywipe was invented in the 1950s and first produced by a company called Nice-Pak… Almost 70 years later, I’m sure that if the inventor of the Babywipes is still alive, he or she is rolling themselves in Babywipes every evening, breathing in the sweet, musky smell of their own genius.
So to them, (or to their ghost who is possibly reading this blog over someone’s shoulder😉), Thank you for the Babywipes.
Thank you from every Mammy in the world.

When Babywipes were born,😂 Mammies everywhere sighed in relief and danced a little pee-inducing dance with utter joy and thrill that FINALLY, there was a handy, disposable, multi-use Mammy tool.
Indeed I am sure the the inventor of the Babywipe rubbed his or her happy hands together in glee when they realised that the Babywipes were going to become SOsought after, so cherished and so NECESSARY in the lives of parents EVERYWHERE.
Not only EVERYWHERE in the world, but EVERYWHERE in every parent’s world…the changing station, the baby bag, the handbag, the car, the office drawers…
Another unbelievable use for Babywipes is, believe or not, cleaning grease. Have a layer of grease on the top of your kitchen cupboards or the mantle above your cooker? You know that kind that no product can remove? Get out the bumwipes and watch isdissolve in front of you. I’m not even joking!
Babywipes can remove practically EVERYTHING!
But let me tell you ONE thing that the Babywipe inventors, and indeed the modern-day Babywipe producer omitted, and CONTINUE to omit, from their research and development.

Yes. Another classic staple in every home. How the fecking Babywipe makers HAVE NOT yet figured out HOW to remove digested Wheetabix from the peachy bottom of a wriggling Poopmonster is beyond me.
Have they not got edumacated sciency people formulating and developing the Babywipes in big sanitised laboratories somewhere near “Area Fiftybum”?
Do they not do fire tests and Delta force style strength tests or use sandblasting to ensure that these mammy weapons are teflar-ly durable?
Are there not product testers who tick off the list of “Things the Babywipe can dissolve and remove”, like:
🌈pee pee ✔
🌈 baby spit ✔
🌈 yoghurt ✔
🌈 mashed potato ✔
🌈 makeup ✔
🌈 ordinary, run of the mill Poonamis ✔
🌈digested blueberries…well…
🌈 Pooped out weetabix… NOOOOOOOOOOO.
How is Pooped out out Weetabix NOT the TOP of the list?
Have the product testers NEVER cleaned the nether-regions of a wobbler who has eaten an average of 2 of the cardboardy biscuits a day?
I wonder if the sciency people would like a “Test bummy” to try to figure out how to fix the babywipes so that they CLEAN AND REMOVE the shards of poo, as opposed to pushing them around the soggy bottom, like little grains of sand that love to simply ROLL over the skin, clinging it like feckin mini-leeches to shiny, smooth glass…
I can offer the services of a Poopmonster.
Do you think if we Mammies offered to help them to develop their technology further, could we call the research “The Big Bum Theory”?
I’m running out of bummy jokes and puns here. I didn’t have my Weetabix this morning, so I’m pretty wiped out…
Boom. Or should that be Bum?
