It’s my Blog’s birthday. It’s my Blogday! The S-Mum is THREE years old today. How the hell did that happen?
When I started this, I was desperate to stay anonymous, terrified of what people would think and didn’t really know if I’d do it for long. It was a hobby. A way of finally doing that thing I’d been procrastinating about for so long; writing!
Well how things have changed eh?
I now have TWO little dictators at my ankles and they keep me on my toes every day. They are my inspiration and my world. And as much as some days I want to hide in the washing machine with a bottle of gin, I adore them both to the moon and back.
Mad as a bag of brambles I tell you!
What other people think about me and my style of parenting (“style!” Makes it sound quite fablis doesn’t it…”Sham” might be more appropriate!)… doesn’t matter a damn to me. My Bullshit Barometer is so broken that even if I looked hard, I don’t think I could physically find two shits to give if people don’t like what I write.
I am no longer anonymous. That didn’t last long! I’m loud and proud and happy to write about being a Mammy. I love that so many other Mammies (and Daddies) get a encouragement or enjoyment or a laugh at least from my words. I adore the messages I get from Mums who say “You’ve read my mind”. And I love all of the opportunities this blog has presented to me.
I’ve made many new friends over the past 3 years, both in the Blogworld and in real life. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve sworn. I’ve ranted. I’ve loved. I’ve lost and I’ve lived. And somehow, I’ve managed to keep finding time to write. And amazingly, you’ve kept finding time to read and interact.
Thank you for reading and commenting and laughing along with me. Thank you for supporting when things haven’t been fablis. Thank you for helping me, one Mammy to another.
I will keep writing. In fact, by the end of this year, I intend to have some of these smumblings printed on actual paper. In actual type. In a real book. I’m working on it. And now that I’ve said it, I have to right?
You are my Mammy Squad and you are Supermums.
Shall we have a virtual “Cheers” tonight Ladybelles? 9pm on the sofa? Who’s joining me?
Here is the very first piece I wrote, this day three years ago. It didn’t make me cringe quite as much as I thought if would if I’m honest.
“To be someone’s Mum is a gift. From early childhood, little girls happily play at being mum to younger siblings, or indeed to dolls, or pets.
Me, I’m the proud and doting mum of a 3 year old Drama Queen, and I am happy to admit, that I am STILL playing! No handbook arrived with the little sweetheart. I don’t have a degree in parenting. I don’t have a bloody clue really!
I make it up every day. I make decisions that I know make my own Mum cringe. I’m sure that at times, my dear Granny shakes her perfectly blow-dried head in horror at my parenting techniques.
In fact, sometimes, I swear that I’m having an outer body experience when I deal with the child.
The Boss, as she has taken to calling her pretty self, stands in front of me; arms crossed, pout perfected, audience’s attention caught and voice ready and poised to hit those terrifying high notes…while I chuckle like a crazy lady as I watch myself try to remain in control; Deep breaths, calm expression, remind myself that I am the adult here.
“Listen Darling. We need to leave the toy back on the shelf for another wee child. “
“Good girl. Now, come on and we’ll go get a Babychino and then we’ll go home and watch Minions…” (Yes, blackmail. Get over it. It works…sometimes.)
I have her… I just need to get her to take my hand and then we’ll skip happily out of the shop, leaving behind the assembled audience in a cloud of applause, appreciation and awe at how well that mammy handled that…
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I NEEEEEEEEEEEED TEDDY!!!!” Cue autotap tears and stratospheric screaming… Oh! and don’t forget the kicks and snake-like movements as I try to lift her gracefully into my arms.
I manage to wrench her under one arm, pick up the bags and move out of the shop. The audience shake heads and probably judge. At this moment in time, I want my Mammy!
We reach the bench outside. I put screaming child down and hunker down to have a positive parenting style talk with her. Her beautiful blue eyes are glistening with tears and her cheeks give the word “Rosy” a new level of meaning.
“Now Madam, listen to me. Don’t EVER…”
Her attention has been distracted by the huge cluster of helium balloons behind me.
“PEPPAAAAAAA PIG!!! Mammy wuk! It’s Peppa Pig bawoooooon! I NEEEEEEEEED IT”
Tears gone. Smile on. Adorable wee face up close into mine. “Pweeeeease Mammy. I wub it!”
“Next day we’re out, I’ll buy you a balloon okay?”
And as we skip off towards the car, I look at the messy little head on her, and I know that for all my “playing”, I’m not doing a bad job really.
I am blessed. I am exhausted. I am happy. I would kill for a glass of Merlot. I am 100% in love with Mini-me. I’m trying my best.