I am Simply Feeding my Baby Mum. 

​“Mumpty 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.  It’s long.  It’s terrifying to sit atop because it’s so high.  It’s divided Mammies for years and a much as we campaign and try to promote awareness about the wall,  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.  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:  Breast or Bottle.
It’s the one wall that EVERY Mum must climb up onto, choose a side and jump off.  It’s unavoidable.  Once baby arrives, you must jump.  For many it’s an easy decision.  For others, it isn’t so easy.  For some, for many reasons, the decision is made for them.  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.  We don’t feel the need to tell them that they SHOULD be bottle-feeding, or that they MUST breastfeed.  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.  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.  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.  They don’t understand HOW you can NOT give your child “the best” start in life. They don’t understand HOW you could possibly breastfeed in public.  They don’t understand HOW you can ignore the scientific research that shows Breastfeeding to be “best”.

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.  It shouldn’t even exist.  It should simply be a tiny little gate and you should chose which side you want to walk through.  It shouldn’t be high.  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 “Warriors” who fight each day to promote one feeding method or the other, don’t realise that they often add bricks to the wall.  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.  She wasn’t asking people their opinions on Breast feeding or bottle feeding.  She was asking a housekeeping question.  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 “Why not do the best thing for your baby and breast feed?”  or “Breastfeed and use cloth nappies.  Better for baby and Mammy.”  And my favourite,“Breast is best.” etc.  The thread turned into a debate between Mums about how she should be feeding.  It got nasty.  It got scientific.  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 “Just bottle feed! It’s far better.”

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

feeding
I can already hear the thoughts of some Mammies as they read this.  I can predict some of the comments that will appear.  And each one them will simply prove my point.  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.  And thankfully it’s improving here too.  And rightly so.  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.  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.  

Each judgemental look or comment in hospitals.  

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.  She should not be pushed off one side or the other.  She should not be judged because of her choice.  She should be offered a helping hand, given a leg up,  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?  Well that doesn’t really matter, but I’ll happily tell you.  I bottle fed. Twice.  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.

Mumpty 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.

​I am Survival List Mum


“Surviving Christmas,” “Christmas Survival Tips for the Working Mum”, “How to Survive Christmas”…

I googled this last night.

Some of the “advice” online is nothing short of HILARIOUS.  I fear most of it may have been written by one of the following:

🎄Mary of the Poppins herself

🎄Someone without kids

🎄A Man… 😂😂😂
Here are some of the best pieces I gleaned, followed by my honest and polite response: Buckle up Bitcheepoos…😙😉
1.  “Be Prepared.”

No shit Sherlock.  As opposed to waking on Christmas Eve and remembering to buy a turkey and gifts? Seriously…
2. “Buy gifts throughout the year and wrap them as you go.”

Now this one I can partially agree with, except S-Mum’s would read “Buy gifts throughout the year, put them somewhere safe and then forget all about them until the week before Christmas, when you have all the gifts bought and then open a box or bag or suitcase and find all the PawPatrol jigsaws you bought in July.  Or even better, find them when you’re putting the decorations away in January!”
3. “Choose a theme for your gifts to add that personal magic”.

Here’s a theme.  Shut the fuck up.  Most of us just about manage to buy for everyone we have to buy for.  And if you’re anything like me, you’ll remember someone on Christmas Day and freak out with guilt and embarrassment and mumble some crap about it not being delivered on time before popping to the loo to order on Amazon with next day delivery. (But if you doooooo want to add a personal touch and be remembered fondly by your loved ones, put glitter🦄 into all of the cards and gifts so that their floors get clattered and you are applauded for spreading the magic of Christmas. Go ahead, I dare you! 😂😂)
4. “Place delicate or expensive ornaments on higher branches.”

Ok this one, I can empathise with.  Especially if you have toddlers or dogs. 🐶But in reality, put delicate or expensive decorations in the ATTIC and leave them there until 2023.
5. “Ice the Christmas Cake 2 weeks before Christmas”

Or in real life, remember on the 23rd that for some reason you need a Christmas cake and either pop to M&Spensive or decide not to bother with cake this year. Either way, it doesn’t really matter does it?
6. “Decorating the home should be a family occasion followed by a family meal.”

Oh really? Should it really? If by “family meal” you mean a bottle of wine after the kids have all gone to bed, then yes…yes this is true. 😅 Decorating the home is, for most, a painful and highly stressful process which generally takes more than one afternoon and involves tears, mess and even declarations of divorcing children and husbands.  If you can get the actua tree up in one go, save yourself the stress and put everything else up by yourself, on your own, without the rest of the family annoying your head.  After bedtime is ideal.😘😉
7. “Keep alcohol locked away.”

Out of the reach of children yes, but keep the key in your frilly fecking apron.
8. “Stock up on essentials:  batteries, bread, milk and cream.”

Why there is no gin or wine on this list, is beyond me.
9. “Go Christmas Shopping without children. Bring a drink and a snack with you.”

Who the hell wrote this?  If you can get someone to mind the minions for an hour, OF COURSE, go Christmas shopping without them. Have a gin and eat chocolate.
10. “Create a cleaning schedule for your home to keep on top of things this Christmas”.

There aren’t enough swear words for this one. A Cleaning Schedule? Who the hell has time to write a cleaning schedule? In the time it would take me to write a cleaning schedule, I would probably have half the cleaning done.  If you can keep floors lego free and counters salmonella free, you’re doing great! You deserve a treat. 💚
There were a few little nuggets in fairness.  Some of the better advice included “Scale down your expectations”, “Invent your own traditions”, and “Give yourself a break.”

Another gem that I completely agree with is “Buy disposable baking trays”: I stock up on aluminium turkey trays every year and everything is cooked in them.  It’s a life saver!


The lists and articles largely did what they always do however; put undue pressure on already busy parents to stress themselves to create a picture perfect Christmas card-esque scene that in reality, is nonsense.

Do what YOU want to do.  Buy what YOU can afford.  Cook what YOU like to eat. If you don’t like mince pies, don’t fricken buy them. If you want to let your kids open all of the presents on Christmas morning, do it!  If you like to wrap all the everything, do so.  If you don’t, DON’T!

It’s that simple.  We don’t need a survival list to survive Christmas, we need to give ourselves a break and enjoy it, because if you take a second to stop and look around you, often in the midst of lost presents and superfluous food shopping, you can see a little bit of magic without having to buy it.
What is your favourite “Survival tip” and why?

​I am Slippy Feet Mum

Well it’s officially Christmas.  


Jack Frost arrived this morning, the mischievous little fecker, and forced me to have to nearly break in to my own car.  He also forced half of Donegal to reduce their speed, which of course is never a bad thing, unless you reduce it from 100 to approximately 54km/hr on the very LARGE, STRAIGHT and very SALTED road into Letterkenny and hold up all of the rush hour traffic.  
In that case, you’re simply a twatsickle.   
But I digress.
I love Jack-of-the-frost, I do.  

I love the chilled air.  I love seeing breath clouds. I love the glitter. 
I loved seeing the clouds sitting ON the Swilly this morning.  I particularly loved Mini-Me’s expression when she saw this sight and exclaimed “Mammy! The Cwouds are touching the waaaater!”

Cutiepie. 
I was very organised this morning…completely prepared for the frozen car and slippery steps and extra time needed to get down off S-Mumble Hill.  
I’d love to say it’s because I’m Supermum and that it was my maternal instinct that told me, through osmosis obviously, that it would be a frozen morning, or indeed that, like Yeats, somone as infamous as Homer…ormin my case Jack Frost… “came whispering to my mind” warning me to jump out of bed and be a Winter Wondermum…
But in reality it was a text from The Him at 5.45am which read “ROADS SHITE GORGEOUS. BLACK ICE. DON’T BE RUNNING LATE. I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK…XXXXXX”  (No you CAN’T prove that I’ve edited this or exaggerated the content of the text, so there! That’s what Him typed…honest like.)😂
And so I wrapped Princess up like  the fat little spanx-wearing Christmas pudding that she is, got Mini-Me into her new fingered gloves – (that’s another post ALTOGETHER! 😠😠) – and carried them both down the very slippery steps to the car, which I’d EVEN managed to have running for 5 minutes so I wasn’t putting the kids in a fridge.

I am a LION…HEAR ME ROAR! 🦁
Sorted.
I dropped Princess off and headed to drop Mini-Me to the bus. (at 54km remember?)
I was so proud of myself and already planning the accomplished and smug text to The Him when I reached school saying that I was early and that of course I loved him more etc., 😈😅and then as I drove into the carpark, I realised something.
I realised that I had CARRIED Mini-Me out of the house and set her safely into the car.
And then it dawned on me that I, or Himself, have probably ALWAYS carried her in and out of places if it was icy.

And so now, I was dropping her off to get OUT of the car, where she’d  have to WALK BY HERSELF TO the bus, which someone ELSE was driving,

And THEN she’d have to get OFF the fecking bus in a slippery playground and make her wasy to the door ACROSS the playground…
ALL.

BY.

HERSELF.
And my Blood chilled as if Jack-of-the-frost himself had kissed my chapped lips…
I stopped the car and actually had to take a few deep breaths.

How ridiculous am I? 
“This is NOT A BIG DEAL you Silly Woman!” said Mammy’s inside voice.

“Cop yourself on Woman” laughed Mrs Anxiety.

“But what if she falls?” answered Super-bubblewrap Mum.
My gut was telling me to ring work to announce that I had an emergency and that I’d be half an hour late so I could drive her ther myself.

Of course I COULDN’T let someone else drive a bus with my Precious (if sometimes terrifying) Minion on it… 

THAT would be NUTS would it not?
You’ll be glad to know that Common Sense slapped me across the face, because obviously, Mammy being MENTAL and CARRYING HER to the door of the school would be MUCH more embarrassing and have life long repercussions compared to her slipping on the ice and bumping onto the ground.
So I reminded her that said ground was REALLY SLIPPY and that the school yard would be EXTRA slippy and that she’d have to take small steps and walk slowly.  I made sure the gloves were still on so that at least if she DID fall,  it wouldn’t be too sore on her wee hands.  And then I walked beside her to the door and quite literally let her find her feet.
And she did.

She slipped a few times, and then like a little Bambi, found her balance before looking up at me and announcing “I’m just like Elsa Mammy.”


I nearly pushed her across a puddle just to see if she’d land like Elsa too, but I though better of it.
Here I was stressing the feck out about HER and she’s off being a Disney fucking princess in her own head.

STORY OF MY LIFE! 💗😂💗😂💗

(She sooooo gets that fromThe Him obviously.)
Hope you all had a Marvellous Monday xxxxx

I am Soooo Mammarella Mum 😂

​Cinderella.  

You all know her.
The dolly who is a COMPLETE skivvy to everyone in her house and who gets a chance to go to the ball,  but has NO hope of going because of her fecking  To-do list and the constant pile of laundrey and sewing and cleaning and crap that grows and grows and grows, until her Fairy Godmother appears and BibbityBobbetyBoos her ass all the way to the ball.
Cinderella.
Well. Let me introduce you to the modern age Cinderella… 

MAMMARELLA.
The modern generation of Queens who sometimes get a chance to go to a fancy ball, but who wonder HOW THE HELL it’s going to happen because of the same reasons as Cinderella…being general skivvies, having to organise EVERYONE else in the house beforehand, and fecking  to-do lists that would knock poor Cinders off her glass slippers. 
On Monday, knowing that we had a super busy week ahead, but happy that it was going to end at a wonderfully glamorous affair, I took a breath and it was all systems go! 
THIS Mammarella however,  ain’t got no Fairy Godmother and so rather than being magically BibbityBobbetyBood from a pumpkin to a Princess, I had to cram a combination of grooming appointments and general maintenance, like you know, showering etc…into my already STUPID schedule.  
Do it I did,  with the help of my own fairies, and I EVEN managed to get my arse mahogonised in a spray booth.  
On Friday morning at 6am, I WAS Cindafuckinrella. 😂

 My To-do list was RIDICULOUS, because as well as making myself appear at the ball looking ALIVE, never mind FABLIS, I ALSO had to sort the minions, make a bed for the Granny, go to my JOB, fit in two meetings cook dinner for everyone else, write out baby routines, and keep everyone alive, pack bags and get to the hairdresser by 5pm….
The day was a whirlwind.

But we got there.

I put lines through that To-do list like an ugly sister on rollerblades.
And when I FINALLY got to the hairdresser, she used magic potions and lotions and turned me from sweaty, dishevelled, skivvy into a slightly #glammymammy. 
I got to the hotel, after being stuck in the most hilarious traffic ever, with ten minutes to spare, titsickle-taped myself into the dress and I was finally ready to go be a Princess.  
And The Him??
How did HE transform himself from a gym-gear wearing servantboy into a Handsome Prince?
He left work, took a shower, stuck on a tux that someone HANDED to him in a bag, and Bibbity Bobbity Boo! Turns into James Fecking Bond… 😲😲😂

But then he won and after all, he WAS the reason I got to pretend to be a Princess for a night wasn’t he?
Actually, Princess my arse… this Mamma Bear was a Queen for the evening. 

😂😂😂
So yes, Mammarellas.

Cinderella doesn’t have a CLUE! 😂😂😂
Wait until she has 2 minions and a Him to get out the door! 😙

​Sudocrem and last-minute-Mother-of-the-feckin-year mum

When Mini-Me started school, 2 months ago, I was determined to be Mother of the year.

No missed buses.

No forgotten lunches.

No homework at 8am.

No forgetting to wash school cardigan and having to lie that it’s in Daddy’s car…

No last minute projects. 😲
I would be Super Organised, Super slick, SuperMum…
2 LONG MONTHS LATER, my shit has ALL gone to shit.😂
Today, at her first PTM,  I hear the word “shoebox” being mentioned over the intercom…

And I had an awful realisation, right in front of the lovely teacher…
“She’ll have her shoebox in in the morning” I stammered…

Yeah Missy.  She sees right through you!
Shit shit shit shit shit…
Actually, if I’m honest, the growing pile of multicoloured Christmas shoeboxes taking over our own secretary’s office at work, has been subtly shouting at my subconscious all week that I must check something.  I have vague recollections of a brochure being taken from the school bag, like, yesterday (cough…no it wasn’t 3 weeks ago.  How very dare you..)
I get home and find the brochure. 

Final date 11th November. 😣😣
Fuck.
I COULD just leave it, and donate somsthing and not feel bad, but then Mini-Me will be in school knowing that Mammy is a toolbox.

😣

(And considering that she is already of this opinion, accusing me DAILY of losing an invitation from a classmate last month that APPARENTLY was in her bag but disappeared, even though I’m CERTAIN that the only invitation I took put of her bag was for her Cousin’s party, which I dumped because I already KNEW when the party was and it was OBVIOUS that she’d simply taken it to school like she does EVERYTHING… And it’s obviously just a COINCIDENCE that they have the same first names and she PROBABLY wasn’t ACTUALLY invited to the friend’s party so therefore didn’t miss anything because Mammy is a Toolbox really…) 😣😣😣
I digress.
Anyhooo. 
No. I can’t just leave it.  That would be terrible.
 So, I get my arse to work finding new or unused lovely things to put in, send The Him a text warning him NOT TO COME HOME without kiddie toothpaste and toothbrush and a pack of socks for aged 6.

Oh! 

And Christmas wrapping paper!
So it’s done. 😆

We doood it!


It was fine and we got to have very lovely conversations about how lucky she is ajd how it’s kind to share etc…

And I do love the concept of the project.  In fact, next year, I’m going to start the second the brochure arrives and we’re going to do LOADS of shoeboxes and I will be Supermum again… for 5 minutes.

My biggest difficulty tonight was getting the fecking sellotape off the roll with my lovely Cindafuckinrella nails that I got done yesterday for tomorrow’s ball…

Aren’t they lovely?

Note to self…

Lovely acrylic extension nails may look lovely, but changing shitty nappies and applying sudocrem suddenly becomes quite the adventure… 👇👇👇👇