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 Some New Year’s Resolutions Mum

​My lazy self has decided that ACTUALLY, I probably should make a few New Year’s resolutions after all.  I’m feeling a bit left out on Social Media today as everyone posts their resolves and memes about the new year and blank canvasses and new beginnings.

ANd then I remembered writing some resolutions at the end of 2016, and I found the post.

Turns out, they are EXACTLY the same as what I want to write today.  Does this mean that I didn’t achieve my goals in 2017?  NO.  I kept everyone alove and well and kept my general sh*t between the ditches, didn’t I?  No.  It simply reminds me that parenting is a constant process and that being the perfect parent is elusive.

And so I begin 2018 with similar thoughts.

1. I must stop scolding Mini-Me. It doesn’t feckin work anyway. I’m wasting my energy.

2. I will be calm and zenned at all times… (mostly after 8pm when the Minions are snoring and I have a glass of something soothing in my hand.)

3. I will learn a new language.  Something foreign and exotic and sexy…Yeah. Actually, No.  My arse.  I have enough bother getting coherent sentences to come out of my mouth in English, and now that I’m having to say the sound “BUH” instead of fucking “BEEE” for the letter b, I’m already technically learning one anyway.  My brain would combust with any more pressure. (Seriously, how the hell are the kids going to spell their namesnin the future! “Muh-iiiih-naaaa-iiiii-muuuuu-eeeeee”  That shit bothers me.)

4. I will get rid of the 18.4 stone I’ve eaten and supped over Christmas…(starting next Monday.  There’s 6 more days until the New Year technically begins.) #operationskinnyarse

5. I will never raise my voice to my child.  (I shall lean in and whisper. It’s much more effective. Bookface taught me that one. It’s good isn’t it.)

6. I shall have a clean house at all times.  (At least once a year, for at least 3 days.The rest of the time? Yeah right! If I can keep them all generally alive, fed and clothed in public, I say I’m winning.)

7. I shall never blackmail or bribe my children. That would be terrible. Such techniques are only employed by bad, terrible, desperate, bat shit crazy bitch mamma…( Maybe I should change this to I will try to stop being a bad, terrible, desperate, bat shit crazy bitch Mamma? Might be a better starting point than giving up blackmail. Can’t go cold turkey like…)

8. I shall travel more and make more time for me.   (I shall take the long way home once a week, AND I’ll listen to the RADIO instead of the fecking FROZEN soundtrack when I’m in the car on my own.  Now THAT is Mam-ME time guys! )

9. I shall stop having imaginary arguments with people while I am in the shower or the car.  It’s not healthy, especially when you turn around, mid-rant covered in lather and Mini-Me is standing staring at you and asks “Who are you talking to Mammy?” or interrupts your rant with “LANGUAGE!” in that condescending, disapproving tone of hers from the back seat, causing you to almost crash the frickin car with fright.  Maybe this is just me? Anyone else?

10. I shall stop drinking grapejuice … gin is not as calorific apparently. And Slimline tonic is basically just water isn’t it?

11. I shall stop swearing.

12. I shall stop lying and accept myself as the deluded, delusional talker of general shite that I am.

I could keep going. But in reality, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing next year.  I might be doing stuff wrong, but I’m also doing stuff right and that’s all that matters.

What are your resolutions for 2018?

 

Wishing you a magical Christmas (1)

Happy New Year!

​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… 👇👇👇👇