I am Share Positive Birth Stories Mum

​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. πŸ’™β€
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.πŸ’–πŸ’–
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. 😘)
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.

❀❀❀❀

I am So THAT’s my Baby Mum!

​Every day, I get to know my minions better.
I am waiting patiently to understand them.  I may wait on by the look of things.
Mini-Me ADORED these books πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡ when she was younger.  We have most of them, still perfect condition, despite having been read 12 times a day for about 18 months.


Today, I learned something about her…

She is a gentle little lady, who despite having the temper of her mother and the patience of…well, her mother, is quite the delicate flower who looks after her stuff quite well.  
Especially books.
How did I learn this? 

WELL, I found this book today and decided to introduce Princess to our tradition.

And within 5 minutes, the pristine and perfect book looked like THIS. πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡


Mini-Me used to turn the pages gently and point sweetly at the “wee mouse” and cheep at the “wee birdies”.  She’d tentatively touch the sensory sections and her mind would flourish poetically and grow beautifully before my very eyes… πŸ’–πŸ’–
Princess ripped the fecking book in bits… like the Hulk that she is…and banged it REPEATEDLY off the floor until she managed to bust the binding.  

5 minutes.

Rambo.
However, never one to dwell on the negative I have decided to perceive her reaction that she TOO was developing her sensory skills.  Her taste for reading can not be disputed either as she has tried many times to EAT the fecking book.  Not only do these books nourish the mind, they are great teethers too apparently.
And so there you go.  These little books do not ONLY educate and encourage and stimulate the minds of our minions, they can also teach Mammies the differences in the personalities of her two little darlings. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

I am Screaming Leaving Granny Mum

​It is sooooo  Grapejuice o’clock on this wonderfully unfeckeuped feck-it-up Friday.
I was doing well you know…
I was doing SO well that I smugly thought I’d get through a full day without shouting or scolding or being a generally horrible Hell-Beast to my little angel.
 I nearly did it…
And THEN she pulled her usual stunt in “Gwanny’s” that leaves HER in dramatic floods of tears, ME ready for the Nut house and my poor Mother torn between remembering what it was like to be mortified in front of HER Mother, and wanting to steal the Demonchild from me and to raise her in the non-shouting, calm and much more cushioned safety of Granny’s house.
Imagine a Disney Fucking princess as she is dragged, sobbing, from her Prince, hand outstretched and a sad and melancholic expression on her tear stained face, mouthing the name of her lost one, in slow motion of course…
Imagine the child in The Railway Children or such orphanesque tale, watching their only relative as the train pulls away from the platform, knowing that they’ll never see them again…
Imagine the scene in The Hunger Games where Catniss is about to be catapulted up into the Arena and the baddies attack her BFF right before her eyes.

There’s nothing she can do.
She is helpless.

It is terrible.
Now imagine the Gobshite who is causing the drama.  

That would be me.  πŸ˜­
And poor Granny is witness to the atrocities.  She wants to scoop the little angel into her arms and hush her and sooth her and tell her it’ll be OK and that OF COURSE she doesn’t HAVE to go home with Mean old Mammy and OF COURSE she can stay with Granny for ever and ever and ever and ever cause Granny will NEVER get cross like mean old Mammy.
She wants to.
But of course she doesn’t. 
She helps poor, mental, wits-end Woman put the obviously  abused, unloved and despairing child in the car, telling her she’ll see her tomorrow and to be a good girl for Mammy.  It breaks her heart no doubt.  
The girlchild is so convincing that a little part of ANY witnessing adult would possibly consider ringing fucking Childline to report Cruel, Uncaring, Crazy Mammy.

But.

Granny has been here before.

Granny has been on the other side of it.  

(Obviously with much less dramatic daughters, given the three angelic girlchildren she raised…πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜œπŸ˜œ)

Ans as much as Granny does indeed want to save her little girl from the Scary One for a night…she also knows that her little girl HAS to take the scary one home! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚
This scene pretty much kills both of the grown ups, but they BOTH know that by the time Madam TurboTwat gets to her own house, (a whole 76 yards away), she’ll have completely forgotten the dramatic ordeal which evil Mammy has just subjected her to by asking her to put on her fucking boots to go home. 
The 90 second drive home will be sufficient for her to completely FORGET her violent and impressively fucking MENTAL protest in Granny’s street.  She shall wipe her tears away, skip in the door and ask “Is scooby Doo on?” before demanding a “cuppa mulk pwease” and then informing Mammy that she is her “best wee mammy” as she is handed said cuppa fecking milk.
And Mammy will stand at the door, watching her in disbelief, completely fooked and wishing that there was some time machine that would whizz her forward half an hour so she could sit on her arse and recover her sanity with some grapes.
Cheers Dollies.

🍷🍷🍷

#callthemammypolice #notathingwrongwithher #fml

I am She’s hit Poohbeartee Mum

​Once upon a time there was a Supermum who woke up full of the joys of spring.
“I’m going to go for a quick run before you go to work Darling ” Her said to Him.

Then S-Mum saw the glittery slippery ground outside and so opted for a long shower instead of a quick run.  
S-Mum had a whole 7 luxurious minutes standing under the hot water, as opposed to her usual “step in, quick rinse and step out” routine.  (S-Mum has mastered the art of showering in the length of time it takes Princess to crawl from the kitchen to the bedroom.   It’s a skill I tell you.)   
This morning, S-Mum shampooed her hair not once, but TWICE…AND… she put conditioner in.  And get this? She got to leave the conditioner in for a whole 2 minutes.  She EVEN got to use the scrubby face wash…
And so, S-Mum bounced to the kitchen, full of the joys of spring and determined that today would be a perfectly marvellous day of fun with her two perfectly behaved princesses.  
And then S-Mum remembered that her almost 5 year old Mini-Me is going through “Poohbeartee.”

Poohbeartee is what I have decided to call the phase of utter fucking MAYHEM that is happening in my little darling’s world right now.
She is emotional. She is impatient. She is cranky. She is grumpy. She is impossible and she is unpredictable.  One minute she is laughing, the next she is crying. She reminds me of myself…(you know…once a month..for like, oh, I dunno, about 29 days or so πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚.)

  It’s not pretty.

One second she loves me, the next she is declaring that she “has to go live with Granny”.  Yesterday, she spent 20 minutes on top of me BAWLING because “I’m not the perfect daughter!”.  (Note to self. Mulan is banned, the fucking Twit.)
But, today, full of the joys of Spring and invigorated by having had TIME to SMELL the actual SMELL of the smelly shower creams, S-Mum remained optimistic that all would be right with the world and we would have a wonderful day.

And we did, up until about 5pm.


Between 5pm and now, I have lost the spring in my step.

She has screamed.

I have screamed.

 I have tried very hard to “ignore it” and “stay calm”. 

She has slammed doors.

I have pissed her off ROYALLY with such unreasonable requests as “Please eat your dinner” and “Brush your teeth.”
I have said each instruction on average 9 times each. And have realised that regardless of the tone or volume of my voice, she’s decided not to fucking HEAR me, never mind LISTEN to me.
It seems that all I have to do now to cause a complete “Poohbeartescant” strop, is to walk into the same room as her.  

She’s gone to bed declaring me no longer her best fwend because I wouldn’t let her take a glowing red fucking torch to bed with her.  Then she cried for ten minutes because she doesn’t  WANT me to no longer NOT be her best fwend, before telling me that Daddy is reading her a story tonight because I don’t “dweseve one.”
“I love you” I called after her as she gnarled and hissed at me going out the door…
Him puts her to bed and Mammy tidies away the toys, trying not to think about the fact that she is OBVIOUSLY doing EVERYTHING FUCKING WRONG because S-Mum stooopidly thought that Little girls didn’t start to hate their mums until the good old age of 13 or so.


Then, she looks at the “Worry Plaque” she’s bought to “appear” on the wall tonight and says a prayer that it works as well as everyone says it does, so that her little Pooh Bear might learn to relax a bit and Mammy won’t feel so fucking useless and impatient and frustrated.
Fuck me.

I’d try anything at this stage.
Mammy can not win.

Mammy wants a gin. 😍
And then sneaks down to give the Scary one a kiss on the cheek as she sleeps, when she is not quite so terrifying and there is no chance that Mammy’s simple general presence in the room can bring on a row.
The End… until tomorrow. 😐
#pouritnow

I am Simply Feeding my Baby Mum.Β 

β€‹β€œMumpty Mumpty sat on the wall,

Mumpty Mumpty had a great fall…

All the Queen’s buddies and all the Queen’s men,

Couldn’t put Mumpty together again.”

Yup.

Mammies face a wall.

And boy it’s a big wall.

It’s huge. Β It’s long. Β It’s terrifying to sit atop because it’s so high. Β It’s divided Mammies for years and a much as we campaign and try to promote awareness about the wall, Β it only seems to be getting higher. The Mammies on each side of this wall think they’re better than the Mammies on the other side. Β And the Mammies still sitting on top of the wall are generally terrified because not only do they not know which side to jump off, but most of them know that regardless of which side they choose, they’ll be judged.
And the worst thing about this wall which divides Mammies?
We built it ourselves.

And we continue to add bricks to it, every single day.
It’s The Feeding Wall.

And you must choose a side: Β Breast or Bottle.
It’s the one wall that EVERY Mum must climb up onto, choose a side and jump off. Β It’s unavoidable. Β Once baby arrives, you must jump. Β For many it’s an easy decision. Β For others, it isn’t so easy. Β For some, for many reasons, the decision is made for them. Β Some Mammies choose a side, but then realise that it’s not for them and so they climb right over that wall and do what they must.

And most of us don’t give a damn which side other Mums choose. We don’t particularly care about how other Mammies are feeding their babies. Β We don’t feel the need to tell them that they SHOULD be bottle-feeding, or that they MUST breastfeed. Β We accept that every Mammy and indeed, every couple, are solely responsible for raising their own children and how they decide to feed and nurture their babies is THEIR BUSINESS alone.

It’s certainly none of mine.

Nor is it any of yours.

Some Mammies are decisive and don’t care about the opinion of others. Β Others feel the need to try to convince you that if you’re NOT doing it the way they do it, then you’re doing it wrong. Β You’re misinformed. You’re a bad Mammy even.

They don’t understand HOW you can be bothered with the sometimes difficult journey of Breastfeeding. Β They don’t understand HOW you can NOT give your child β€œthe best” start in life. They don’t understand HOW you could possibly breastfeed in public. Β They don’t understand HOW you can ignore the scientific research that shows Breastfeeding to be β€œbest”.

They don’t understand HOW you don’t think the same as them.

And you know what?

They don’t HAVE to understand, because IT’S NONE OF THEIR BUSINESS!

The Wall is getting higher. It’s ridiculous. Β It shouldn’t even exist. Β It should simply be a tiny little gate and you should chose which side you want to walk through. Β It shouldn’t be high. Β It shouldn’t be frightening.

And until we all get off our sanctimonious high horses and stop adding bricks to it, it’s going to get higher.

Ironically, the β€œWarriors” who fight each day to promote one feeding method or the other, don’t realise that they often add bricks to the wall. Β If you automatically get defensive about your chosen feeding method, and the main way you promote it is by dismissing and demeaning the alternative, you’re simply judging… bitching even.

And when the information leaflets and campaigns use “Vs” in their copy, what hope do we have? Even the language is suggesting that there is competition, conflict, sides.

A few weeks ago, I read a post on a national forum from a Mammy of 2, who is pregnant again. Her youngest is 6 and she simply asked where was the best place to buy formula nowadays and which nappies people found best.

Now, bear in mind, this Ladybelle is ALREADY a Supermum to 2 children. She has ALREADY sat on that bloody Feeding Wall TWICE and has obviously made educated and personal choices for herself and her family already. Β She wasn’t asking people their opinions on Breast feeding or bottle feeding. Β She was asking a housekeeping question. Β Where could she save money and which nappy brand is now kicking ass in the world of Mammies.

The answers were generally simply answers, but IMMEDIATELY there were comments such as β€œWhy not do the best thing for your baby and breast feed?” Β or β€œBreastfeed and use cloth nappies. Β Better for baby and Mammy.” Β And my favourite,β€œBreast is best.” etc. Β The thread turned into a debate between Mums about how she should be feeding. Β It got nasty. Β It got scientific. Β It got offensive and it got deleted.
Had this Mammy been asking for advice on breastfeeding, would anyone on the forum have DARED to suggest β€œJust bottle feed! It’s far better.”

Probably not.Β  They’d have been be lynched.Β  Although Mammies who breast feed often get comments passed too. “How do you know she’s getting enough?”Β  “Would you not just top him up with a wee bobo?”Β  “How can you be bothered?”

feeding
I can already hear the thoughts of some Mammies as they read this. Β I can predict some of the comments that will appear. Β And each one them will simply prove my point. Β Our opinions are simply that… OUR OPINIONS. They hold no weight in the lives of others. Nor should they.

If you get sooooo upset by the Beautiful Mammy feeding her baby formula from a bottle, ask yourself why?

If you get soooooo offended by the beautiful Mammy breastfeeding her baby in the cafe, ask yourself why?

Does it hurt you? Are you drinking it? Is it your breast?

No.

So get over it.
Yes, we should live in a society where Mammies are able to, and feel comfortable enough to, breastfeed their babies in public, without sexualisation of the breast, without others feeling uncomfortable. Of course we should. The cities have a wonderful attitude to breastfeeding. Β And thankfully it’s improving here too. Β And rightly so. Β But we must also change our attitudes to feeding in general.

Because we should ALSO live in a society where a Mammy is able to feed her little baby HOWSOEVER she wishes WITHOUT being categorised or judged or having to take a side. Β Why can we not all get on with it? Why is it such a bone of contention? Why do we take it all so personally?

Each negative comment on online forums. Β 

Each judgemental look or comment in hospitals. Β 

Each eyebrow raised at a raised nursing top is another brick in the wall.

And we’re building it ourselves.

Mumpty Mumpty should not have to jump off the wall. Β She should not be pushed off one side or the other. Β She should not be judged because of her choice. Β She should be offered a helping hand, given a leg up, Β from ALL Mammies and she should be applauded when she lands, regardless of which side she lands on.

Because unless she jumps directly onto your head and knocks you out, her choice doesn’t really affect you either way, does it?

Which “side” of the wall am I on? Β Well that doesn’t really matter, but I’ll happily tell you. Β I bottle fed. Twice. Β Why? Well that’s really none of anyone’s business is it?

Do I care how you feed your baby?

Absolutely not. Just keep them fed. That’s all that matters.

β€œMumpty Mumpty sat on the wall.

Then all the other Mumpty Mumpties helped her down and told her she was doing a great job and then they all raised their own babies and they all lived happily ever after.

The End.”

I am Simply Feeding my Baby Mum.