



“Are you hoping to do it properly this time?”
I kid you not. This is what I was asked recently by another Soon-to-be Mum with whom I was having the “When are you due?”conversation.
She’d asked if this was my first. I’d answered that it was number two.
“Me too” she smiled. Then she asked if I’d had a tough time last time. I replied that I’d had to have a planned section. Her next line floored me.
“Aw, so are you planning to do it properly this time?”
Now in her defense, she was an absolute stranger, who probably didn’t intend any harm whatsoever. I don’t think she even realised that she’d said it…but she had.
I smiled politely and said Goodbye. As I walked away, my smile remained on my face, somewhat forced… I wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to laugh or to cry.
Smug I-push-mine-out-Mum carried on, oblivious to the fact that she could have just offended or upset the other very pregnant lady. I carried on about my day, and it was only when I was telling my friend about the conversation that evening that I realised that her comment was lingering in my mind.
The word “properly” has been bothering me since.
Because not only did it dismiss my first childbirth, it suggested that I did something wrong; that my first birth was improper.
Did she automatically assume that I was “too posh to push”? Did she think that I asked to have my stomach sliced open and my baby lifted out by surgeons? Did she really class a c-section as a sub standard, improper way of delivering a child? If she’s told that she needs to have one this time, is she going to say No because it’s not the proper way to do it?
What is the proper way? I listen to conversations all the time about childbirth and babies. There seem to be so many proper ways to do things.
Without medication. With just gas and air. With classical music on in the background. Without bright lights and alarm. Mammas who breathe through the pain are fantastic. Those who refuse drugs are wonderful. Those who have 60 hour labours are phenomenal. But those who take as much pain relief as we can have are equally as brilliant.
I don’t know of any new Mother who had Andy Peters standing waiting at the bottom of the bed to pin a Blue Peter Badge onto their properly born child afterwards.
I applaud and congratulate these warrior women, in the exact same way as I applaud and congratulate the woman who, for whatever reason, may it be medical, personal or indeed emergency, has to undergo the trauma of childbirth on an operating table.
A caesarean section is not what any woman anticipates when thinking of how their baby will be born. It’s terrifying. It’s painful. Your body goes through all of the same physical and indeed hormonal reactions to having just given birth as the body of a woman who has been lucky enough to give birth naturally.
There are stitches. There is afterbirth. There is pain…by God is there pain.
There is recovery time. There are hormones.
But most importantly, with the help of some higher power and whatever wonderful staff that are on hand in the hospital, there is a baby.
And that is what childbirth, in any form, is about.
It’s about getting your precious little darling out of your big swollen tummy as quickly and safely as possible. It’s about causing as little trauma as possible to your newborn, regardless of what your own body must go through. It’s about love.
And there is absolutely nothing proper about any of it.
Every woman dreams of a quick, pain free labour and uneventful delivery. How many do you know that have achieved that? I’d love to meet them.
Of course I’d love to have experienced childbirth like most women do. But do I feel like I have missed out on anything?
Erm, no.
Do I feel that my darling daughter is any less born than her friends or cousins? Nope.
If my next child is born by VBAC, will that be more proper than Mini-me’s birth? Eh…no!?
But If I do manage proper childbirth this time, does that mean I’m finally a real mum and that I can finally be admitted into the proper mum club? Well I think you know where I’m going with this!
I’m already a real mum. I’ve already had a proper baby. I’ve already been through the horrors of childbirth, perhaps just a little differently to others.
In the same way as some women judge others for not breast feeding, or for taking whatever drugs are safely available to them from the doctors, or for giving their baby a dodo/soother/pacifier, that lady judged me for having to have a c-section to bring my baby to me safely.
And of course she didn’t intend to offend, but when we so flippantly share our own opinions on bump and baby matters, (and we do!), we sometimes dismiss experiences that we have never had ourselves.
And we should consider that before we speak.
My experiences of pregnancy, birth and of being a Mummy are very different to every other Mummy’s experiences. My experience isn’t exclusive. There is no such thing as properly when it comes to being a Mum..
So if this time round, my consultant advises me that I should have another section, I’ll listen to her, because guess what? That’s her job. She knows best and I trust her. And because it’s my job too…the only job a mother has when they go into hospital, is to get their little bundle out of their belly!I
And I will happily hang upside down from the rafters, singing Jingle Bells, buck naked and high on horse tranquilizers if that ‘s what it takes to get my little one here properly.
I am Section Mum
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Do your little minions keep you on your toes?
Mine do. So much so that I might as well dance around in ballet pumps, never mind walking.
While they try to keep me on my toes, half the time I’m actually walking around bare-footed…on lego. I think I’ve sussed them. I think I know them and their tricks. And then they remind me that actually, I have not a clue what I am doing and that I am most certainly NOT in charge in our little home.
Here are the top 5 ways that Mini-Me and Princess are keeping me “dancing” at the minute. But sure hey, who wants boring well-behaved kids eh?
2. Hiding is the best fun ever! Especially when they hide behind their fat wee hands, right in front of you and genuinely believe that you can’t see them. However, as they get bigger, hiding becomes a skill. And it becomes quite the pain in the posterier…especially if they decide to play “hiding” just as you are trying to leave the house. Princess is unbelievable at it. She runs down the hall shouting “I Hideeeeeeen”. Her favourites are in the bottom of a wardrobe, happily still in the dark, or standing like a statue behind a curtain. Nightmare. The only way I can find her in a hurry is to make her giggle. (Mammy on the other hand can not hide. ANYWHERE. Don’t waste your time trying. They will find you.)
3. Clean nappies are best for pooing in. Especially when you’re just about to leave the house. Again, if a clean nappy is combined with silence and hiding, you’re getting a hat-trick Mammy.
4. If Mammy cooks it, they will not eat it. If Granny, Aunty, Uncle, Childminder, Binman cooks it, they shall eat it. Also, if, like me you have a child who doesn’t eat a particular food (still no go on the chucken), be warned that they WILL eat it EVERYWHERE ELSE. Just to keep you look deranged and mad when you tell people they don’t like a certain food.
5. Crying is reserved for Mammy. A child can bump her knee at 10am and be brave. When you arrive at 5pm, they will cry about it. A child can be as good as gold all day. Once you enter another house or indeed, once someone else walks into your house, they will begin to act like demonic dictators just to remind you that they are indeed the Boss of the whole wide world. And to maintain your outside-the-house-persona as the Mammy-who-is-always-scolding.

Otherwise, all is perfect and all is right with the world. I hope you all got lots of eggs and that the little faces are covered in chocolate. Bring on the sugar rush and crashes this evening eh? And don’t forget to put some egg in the fridge to have when they go to bed tonight! Goes well with grapes they tell me. 🙂
What is your little one’s trick of the month?
Speaking of choice…
“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…
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When did Easter become such a big deal?
Now, before I come across as a Negative Nelly here, let me clarify that I LIKE Easter.
I like it for lots of reasons. Mainly the fact that it is accompanied by holidays, better weather and chocolate. It’s also a great excuse to enjoy Easter dinners, visit family and to meet up with friends. And it is the time of year where it’s finally acceptable and not weird to wear yellow. What’s not to like?
As kids, Easter meant the end of the drudgery of lent. It meant a lot of services and masses, but it was all topped off by the family occasions and meals and wearing of the good clothes. It meant cousins visiting and mostly, it meant CHOCOLATE. The first taste of chocolate melting on your tongue after having had it banned for 40 days, was AMAZING!
Now, Easter is as big an event as Christmas for many. Houses are decorated. Holidays are planned. New outfits are worn. People go all out. And if you do, good for you. But I have ONE tiny, ickle, niggly little issue that quite honestly is grinding my springtime gears.
The Easter Bunny.

Why? Because my daughter asked me last week:
“When do we write our letters to The Easter Bunny?”
“Sorry…whodeewhatnow?”
“Why would you be writing a letter to the Easter Bunny?”
“So he can bring me toys?”
“The Easter Bunny doesn’t bring toys.”
“He does. Japonica says that he is bringing her Shopkins and a scooter.”
What the actual?
Unless it is Japonica’s birthday on Easter Sunday, why the heck she would be getting big gifts like this is beyond me.
The Easter Bunny used to be a symbol. A thing associated with Easter. Like the Easter Egg. Now apparently, The Easter Bunny is like the Santa Claus of Springtime. The Easter Bunny, now leaves presents for some kids apparently…the little fecker.
Why? Because somemum (or Dad), somewhere, decided to treat their little Darling to something nice, which is their prerogative, but in their wisdom, left it as a treat “from the Easter Bunny.”

Now, if parents decide to buy things for their kids, for their own reasons, with their own money, in their own home, is their OWN business. Give them what you want, but let them know that they are from YOU… Not a magic bunny.
When you start something that your little one is obviously going to share at school (because let’s face it, presents are CLASS regardless of who leaves or brings them!), you might be causing a problem for others.
You are adding pressure to parents who already have enough to be dealing with. There are parents who don’t think their kids need any more gifts or toys 3 months after Santa has been. There are parents who depend on the 3 for 2 sales to buy Easter Eggs for their kids. There are parents who depend on family members to buy the eggs. There are parents who are still paying off Christmas.

Keep them apart please
Christmas is already difficult. It is already full of traditions that should you choose to follow, can be contentious and unfair. We have already cultured our kids into expecting gifts on December 25th and we all know that the “How come Santa bought HIM a pony but only bought me a bike?” conversation will happen at some stage. But as a society, we have learned to deal with that. We are accustomed to it and we practice our excuses and explanations. And we have a full year to plan and save for it.
Why, oh WHY do we want to be doing it twice a year?
Stop it.
Make Easter whatever you want it to be. Go to mass. Don’t. Wear yellow. Don’t. Stay in your PJS. Don’t. Go out for lunch. Don’t. Buy eggs. Don’t. Paint eggs. Don’t. Organize an egg hunt in your garden…or don’t. Whatever you do, on your own home, good for you, but but for the love of St. Cadbury, don’t start some extortionate rumour mill among the kiddies that the fricken Easter Bunny will bring toys if they’re good. Leave that job to Santa Claus. We don’t need a Vice-Santa.

This is just plain creepy
Now, I probably should go buy some Easter eggs. And I might need a yellow dress. But will my little Bunny be writing a letter of request to the Easter Bunny?
Eh, no. No she won’t.
