I am Some things I never knew Mum


​Things that no one tells a soon to be Mamma.

Please be aware that this is a NHB  (No holding back) post which may contain TMI for some readers! 😂😂

If you read this and wish you hadn’t, too bad really… But you can’t say you weren’t warned!

The Early Days

1. The first visitors to the hospital will be a blur. I was so out of it on adrenaline and whatever horse tranquilisers they’d given me that my first visitors still talk about how “great” I was… And yet I don’t remember a thing about the first day!

If you have other kids, manipulating the visitors so that your kids and then Grandparents are first in, is a military operation!   Hopefully it will only be your nearest and dearest who come along initially.

Most people are good at knowing that it’s best to wait until Mamma is settled at home before they visit.  There are no rules of course, but in my little rule book, only go to the hospital if it’s one of your closest friends or a close family member.

2. The interruptions:  You’ll just have drifted off to snooze after finally getting your little one to nod off and the door of the ward shall swing open and in comes “The Beeper”.

The Beeper is the little Blood Pressure monitor and fancy trolley the lovely nurses push from ward to ward to make sure you and baby are doing OK.  It looks like Johnny 5 and has a habit of appearing at the most inconvenient times.

Don’t get me wrong.  The nurses have a schedule and have to do their rounds and it’s all in your best interest, but you will learn to loath the Beeper.  But it’s only for a few days and it makes going home to your own bed all the sweeter.

3. Your first toilet trip:  With Mini-Me, I read all the books.  ALL of them! My Darling mother happily answered my questions with brutal honesty.  When I found out I’d be having her by section, my amazing friend told me all about hers in her colourful language.

Having grown up on a farm and having helped out, hands on I might add, with MANY C-Sections on Cows, I felt quite prepared.  I put my faith, my trust and my vulnerable self in the care of the surgeons and all was right with the world.

But NO ONE prepared me for the first toilet trip…when you go for your first pee, apparently it’s normal to feel like you’re being sliced open again without anaesthetic this time!  I swear to God, I thought I was going to die right there on the loo.  It was not pretty.  The pain almost made me puke.

And as if that wasn’t terrifying enough, the first poo is fecking horrendous!  I have it on good authority that it is the same for Mummies who deliver vaginally.  Again, I thought my entire insides were falling out.

I roared so loudly that The Him actually called for a nurse and she had to come in to convince me that no, I hadn’t just passed my bowel and no,  I wasn’t going to die.  But don’t tell anyone.  How undignified and ridiculous right?

4. The Boobs:  Now, for me, this was a big deal.  And I mean Big in every sense of the word.  As a woman of the Fried egg club, to wake up on day three with two bald heads in my bra, was quite the trauma.  I swear to God I looked like Jordan.  I’ve always wondered if I’d like to have boobs… No.  No I wouldn’t .  Thank you.  No. Give me my fried eggs any day.

5. The journey home:  My memory of this one still makes me laugh.  The walk from the ward to the car with your lovely car seat is one of the most surreal experiences of your life.  I hadn’t stepped more than 6 foot to the bathroom in 4 days.

Suddenly I had to waddle my way down corridors, into lifts (oooooh that bump takes on a whole new level of weirdness after a section!), through a lobby (carrying balloons to boot!) and out into the car. It was like running 20feet and then thinking you’re ready for a marathon the next day.

Daddy is grinning like a Cheshire cat while you shall be torn between scolding him for swinging the seat too much when he walks, and holding your ladybits in because they feel like they are about to fall the hell out of you with every step!

Getting into the car is a challenge and then there’s the drive home.  I dare say The Him didn’t go above 40mph the whole way out to the house, because of the precious cargo and of course because of my delicate state.  We both give out about Dooters on the road, but Oh my did he dooter out the road that day!

6. The tears:  Oh tears.  You unpredictable little feckers… They come in waves.  You have NO control over them.  They’ll arrive at the worst times.  And you’ll possibly laugh at the same time because you will have no idea why the hell you’re crying!  But let them flow.  It’s completely normal! I’m still crying over anything and my Baby is 1!

7. The Visitors: While you’ll want nothing more than to see people and introduce your new bundle to your loved ones, bear in mind that your first day or two at home will be exhausting, emotional and terrifying.  If I had been able to pay the midwives to come home with me, I would have.  I remember getting to the house with The Him and the Car seat and being soooooo frightened.  There was no buzzer.  There were no nurses down the hall.  It was just us.  But we were fine.

8. Newborns are actually much more interesting than you ever thought they were.  But here’s the key.  YOUR newborn is interesting. To YOU and your partner .  Don’t be offended if your visitors only start at the baby for a few minutes.  Yes of course they’re interested and of course they’ll think your baby is gorgeous, but while you can watch this little person doing NOTHING for hours on end, to others, it is exactly that…a little person doing nothing!

They don’t see the miraculous progression from yesterday, or that the baby is holding your focus for a few moments longer… or that her grip seems more purposeful.  So don’t get offended that your friends seem to politely stare at the baby for only a few minutes, declaring his cuteness or that she has your eyes, before moving promptly on to some other topic of conversation.  It’s normal.

And be honest, you’ve probably done it yourself many times. Because other people’s babies are not that interesting are they?

9. Lasagne can make you cry:  The gifts and parcels and flowers will come and be hugely appreciated. But the most welcomed and remembered offering to the home of the newborn…is food!  And the best kind of food is something that can be portioned, reheated, frozen or even eaten cold from the casserole dish.  Think curry. Think chilli. Think lasagne.  You never realised how good lasagne tastes.  It’ll make you so happy that may cry tears of joy.

10. You suddenly won’t care who washes your knickers:  Maybe this was just me.  Before I had Mini-Me, the thought of someone else doing my washing would have driven me mad with shame.  Not because there’s anything wrong with my smalls, No!  But I could never have even entertained the thought of my Mum or Mother-in-Law washing them.  And then I got over that VERY quickly. Because the first time I realised that the washing machine was going without me having started it, my initial panic was so overwhelmed by total gratitude that I even surprised myself.  Now, I still don’t like the idea of someone washing my knickers, but for the first few weeks after birth, you really shouldn’t give a damn.

So now you’re home. And you could probably add 10 more things to this list.  Add away Supermums.

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… 👇👇👇👇

I am She’s on the phone Mum

​”I’m just on da phone Mammy”

“OK Darling.”
I carried on cooking dinner, laughing to myself as she chittered and chattered away on the phone.  She rang her old preschool teacher and had a very convincing one way conversation that went like this…
“Hi Macewa. S’me.  Hi. Yeah. Scuse me Macewa, it’s me here.  I need to speak to Danyel. No not my sister Danyel, ypir kid Danyel.  Yeah..yeah.. no…no.”  Pausing at the proper times and everything.
It was about 100 on the adorascale.
Then, a few minutes later, she announced,

“Scuse me Mammy. I’m just talking to Gwanny Mum, can you pweeeeease be quiet?”

“Ok pet.  You chat to Granny.”
I battered on in the kitchen.  She was sitting on the window sill on the other side of the room having another conversation with Granny apparently.
“You see we took down the Halloween Decorations cos it’s Christmas and now we have to get ready for Santa and I didn’t get to see da fireworks but I did go Twickatweeting and can I come to your house for a sweepover later? Oh Ok Gwanny.  See ya! Byebyebyebyebyebye”
“You finished talking to Granny?” 

“Yup!” And off she went on her next imaginary adventure.
“Wee dote” thinks S-Mum to herself, wondering where on Earth she EVER got the Byebyebyebyebyebye. 😂
Fast forward a few hours.

“Gwanny” calls.
We chat about the funeral she’d been at.  We talk about Princess’s nasty cold.  We talk about going wallpaper shopping on Friday.  She says she’ll call for a cuppa later. 

Pretty normal.
And then she asks “Did Mini-Me hang up properly that time?”
Sorry WHAT NOW?😲😲😲
“What you mean Mum?”

“After she called me earlier? Did she hang up afterwards?”
Hole…eeeeeeee shit.  😲😲😲
The little rascal had apparently called Gwanny after all, and had a full conversation with her. 

When Granny asked her if Mummy knew that she was on the phone, her answer was “I’m just talking to Gwanny Mum, can you pweeeeease be quiet?”

And of course, Gwanny heard me answer “Ok darling. You chat to Granny” so obviously assumed that I’d dialed her number for her to have a wee chat.
Oh how Mummy laughed.  

And Oh how Granny laughed.

And THEN, Mummy started to replay the conversation and the PANIC of “JEEEEESUS what were we saying?” set in! Thankfully, all poor Gwanny heard was my bad singing as I cooked.
But I’ll tell ya.

The phone shall be locked from now on, or at least when she’s “playing” with it, we’ll be checking if she’s ACTUALLY playing.
Couldn’t watch her! 😂😂😂

I am She’s way too clever Mum

​”Mammy is my tongue black?”
Somewhere along the last few days, someone has imparted this gem of information to my Minion.

And while this crap might have worked on US as kids, the minions have evolved. 

They are FAR beyond old wives’ tales or legends. 
Gone are the days of believing EVERYTHING you’re told, and being too terrified that there might be a LITTLE bit of truth in it, to even ATTEMPT whatever crime you’d been told would turn your tongue black, or freeze your face or make your nose fall off.
No.

Nowadays, children are WAAAAAY too clever.

Or maybe the word I’m looking for is “manipulative”?
Mini-Me was rambling about her day in the back of the car.

I had listened for the first 6 minutes and then successfully responded appropriately enough in the correct pauses for her to think I was listening for another 5.
Then she announced “and we went to the match with Michael Murphy and I won you know?”

(Obviously it was the excitement of her tone and my FABLIS Mammying skills that brought my attention back to where it should have been… NOTHING to do with the mention of Thor. 😂)
“Did you REEEEEALLY?” I asked laughing.

“Yup! And then we got back on the bus and came to school so you could collect me. I’m not lying Mammy honest.”

“Mmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm!”

” Sewiously Mammy! Look! Is my tongue black?”
We were stopped at a traffic light by now, so I turned around to see her sticking her tongue out as far as she could.
“Why are you asking that?”

“Ith my tongue bwach Mammy?” ( tongue still out!)

“No. It’s not black Darling.”

“See!” (Smug little toot.) “My tongue isn’t bwack so I AAAAM telling the twoof.”
I continue driving, and she continues rambling about playing football wif Michael-of-the-Murphy.
And I laugh to myself.
Because, while I remember being TERRIFIED that my tongue would ACTUALLY turn black, or that an apple tree would ACTUALLY grow in my tummy if I swallowed the pips, MINI-ME is able to TWIST the old fable to use as substantiation and verification of her “Twoofs”.
I may give up now Lads.

She’s not even 5 and she’s two steps ahead of me.

And I may look forward to her graduation from Law school, because I have a feeling she is going to make a damn fine legal type.
So what were the stories (threats) you were afraid of as a kiddy?