Sanctimammies Toddle On By

Sanctimammy

Noun – A Mammy who believes that her way of parenting is the correct and proper way; judging and dismissing other Mums who do not parent as she parents.

Adj – Sanctimammious     

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‘Live and Let live’ they say.  But once you dip your toe into the world of Parenthood, that seems to change for some people.  It becomes ‘Do as I do, Think as I think’. There is no area in our lives which can cause heightened levels of self-doubt and self-criticism as parenting.  And often, it is the outright self-righteousness and shared opinions of other parents which makes us doubt ourselves.

Have you ever been asked something about your child, only to have an eyebrow raised, or a lip pursed at your reply?  Have you ever been nervous of telling someone how YOU do things, because you know that they do it differently?

We all have.  We’ve all been there.

Parenting styles and beliefs and practices vary, not just in countries, or counties or communities, but within homes.  For twenty houses in an estate or on a road, there will be twenty different parenting styles happening at once. But here’s the thing.

Just because you do things differently, doesn’t make you better.

Just because you work AND have kids, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who is working her ass off at home.

Just because you’re able to stay at home with your Puking minion, doesn’t make you a better Mum than the Mum who had no choice but to leave hers with Granny, because she couldn’t get off work.

Just because you Breastfeed your baby, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who, for WHATEVER reason, has to (or choses to) Bottle feed. You don’t know why they can’t (or don’t) breast feed.  You don’t have to. It’s none of your business.

Just because you use organic, reusable nappies, you are not superior to the Mammy who stocks up on Packets.

Just because your Baby sleeps well, does not mean that the Mum who hasn’t slept for 14 months is less brilliant than you.

Just because you’ve decided to wean your Baby by the guidance of some book, feeding Quinoa and avocado and peppers, doesn’t make you better than the Mum who feeds her kid mashed potato and gravy, or (shock horror!) fishfingers and waffles.

Just because your little Japonica goes to 5 activities a week at 11 months old, does not make you a better Mum than Jacinta next door, who can just about leave the house to do the shopping, because her PND is so crippling that she can’t breath.

Just because you gave birth without drugs, in a calm and wonderful experience, does not make you a better Mum than the lady who has had 3 sections.

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Now, I am NOT saying that you shouldn’t make an effort to do what’s best and what’s healthy for your baby. What I am saying is that what YOU deem right and important, might not be the same as another Mum.  Our priorities are all different. And that’s OK

Every Mum does what SHE has to do for HER family. And the only person who knows what is right for your family is YOU.

You don’t know another Mum’s circumstance. You don’t know her. You don’t know if she’s happy, or watching you getting into your car to go to work, longing to be you.

You don’t know if she’s driving to work in tears because her Baby cried again as she was dropping him off.

You don’t know how many times a day the Mammy in the office feels a gutwrenching guilt at being away.

You don’t know how the Mum in her kitchen is longing for a conversation.

You don’t know how much the Mum who has to pay bills rather than pay for Baby swim classes longs to be able to sign her baby up.

You don’t know how much time and effort that Mum, looks fab at the school gate, took to just get out the door this morning because she cried all night.  

You don’t know how much the Mum who seems to have it all, wishes that she had something else.

You don’t know how much the Mum who is mixing up formula berates herself.

You don’t know Jack sh*t.

As long as your children are fed, and loved and looked after, you’re doing great.  

How we parent our children, is nobody’s business but our own.  And what other Mums think of your parenting, is absolutely none of YOUR business.  

And if you EVER hear yourself dismissing or tutting at another Mammy because she’s doing it differently to you, lift your hand, grab a wooden spoon and hit yourself a good hard slap on the arse with it.

No one likes a Sanctimammy.

I am Something that Babywipes Can’t Beat Mum

Mammy loves the Babywipes.

Every parent loves the Babywipes, don’t they?

We really should thank the Inventor of the Babywipes.
Apparently, the first Babywipe was invented in the 1950s and first produced by a company called Nice-Pak… Almost 70 years later, I’m sure that if the inventor of the Babywipes is still alive, he or she is rolling themselves in Babywipes every evening, breathing in the sweet, musky smell of their own genius.
So to them, (or to their ghost who is possibly reading this blog over someone’s shoulder😉), Thank you for the Babywipes.
Thank you from every Mammy in the world.

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When Babywipes were born,😂 Mammies everywhere sighed in relief and danced a little pee-inducing dance with utter joy and thrill that FINALLY, there was a handy, disposable, multi-use Mammy tool.
Indeed I am sure the the inventor of the Babywipe rubbed his or her happy hands together in glee when they realised that the Babywipes were going to become SOsought after, so cherished and so NECESSARY in the lives of parents EVERYWHERE.

Not only EVERYWHERE in the world, but EVERYWHERE in every parent’s world…the changing station, the baby bag, the handbag, the car, the office drawers…

Poo poo, Bum bum, Ching ching. 😂

Another unbelievable use for Babywipes is, believe or not, cleaning grease.  Have a layer of grease on the top of your kitchen cupboards or the mantle above your cooker?  You know that kind that no product can remove?  Get out the bumwipes and watch isdissolve in front of you.  I’m not even joking!

Babywipes can remove practically EVERYTHING!

But let me tell you ONE thing that the Babywipe inventors, and indeed the modern-day Babywipe producer omitted, and CONTINUE to omit, from their research and development.

 The one thing they UNDERESTIMATED…
Weetabix.

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Yes.  Another classic staple in every home.  How the fecking Babywipe makers HAVE NOT yet figured out HOW to remove digested Wheetabix from the peachy bottom of a wriggling Poopmonster is beyond me.

Have they not got edumacated sciency people formulating and developing the Babywipes in big sanitised laboratories somewhere near “Area Fiftybum”?

Do they not do fire tests and Delta force style strength tests  or use sandblasting to ensure that these mammy weapons are teflar-ly durable?

Are there not product testers who tick off the list of “Things the Babywipe can dissolve and remove”, like:

🌈pee pee ✔

🌈 baby spit ✔

🌈 yoghurt  ✔

🌈 mashed potato ✔

🌈 makeup ✔

🌈 ordinary, run of the mill Poonamis ✔

🌈digested blueberries…well…

🌈 Pooped out weetabix… NOOOOOOOOOOO.
How is Pooped out out Weetabix NOT the TOP of the list?
Have the product testers NEVER cleaned the nether-regions of a wobbler who has eaten an average of 2 of the cardboardy biscuits a day?
I wonder if the sciency people would like a “Test bummy” to try to figure out how to fix the babywipes so that they CLEAN AND REMOVE the shards of poo, as opposed to pushing them around the soggy bottom, like little grains of sand that love to simply ROLL over the skin, clinging it like feckin mini-leeches to shiny, smooth glass…
I can offer the services of a Poopmonster.

Do you think if we Mammies offered to help them to develop their technology further, could we call the research “The Big Bum Theory”?

I’m running out of bummy jokes and puns here. I didn’t have my Weetabix this morning, so I’m pretty wiped out…

Boom.  Or should that be Bum?

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I am Soppy Oul Sap Mum

My Partner in Poo!

(I love you I do…)

“I take thee for richer, for poorer”, we said.

“For better for worse, in sickness, in health”

And while we meant all of these things on the day,

In hindsight, there’s probably more we should say.

“I’ll love you alone, while it’s just me and you,

Deeply and truly, as lovers should do,

But things might change slightly when two becomes three

And yet I’ll still love you, though it might be slightly

Different and strained as we sail through the seas

Of babies and nappies and purees and puke,

Of Peekaboo, nap-times and lego and books.

And then we realise three shall be four

I’ll still try to love you as much as before.

For while there’s less dinners and cinema dates,

Less romance and movies and less use of good plates,

Every so often, I’ll catch a brief glimpse

Of the Man that I married, and I’ll smile as you wink

I’ll love you in darkness, in fevers, in tears

And teething and pain and in each passing year.

I’ll love you in cuddles and memories and fun

In sneaky embraces and slaps on the bum

As we meet in the kitchen in the middle of night.

And when I watch you swinging our girls way up high.

When you’re loving our girls, I love you the most,

When you’re covered in poo, or you’ve not cut their toast

The right way, or you’ve left all the dishes and mess

To build them a fort or put Hulk in a dress.

When I see you exhausted, yet hugging them tight,

When you get up to cuddle or sooth in the night,

When you smile at them both, I can’t help but stare

At the husband that I never thought I could share,

But happily do with our two little girls,

Who weren’t in our mind as we took all those vows,

I know that you love me when I hear them call Daddy

And I’ll share all that love with our Princesses gladly.

So while we still love and while we’re still “us”,

With kids there isn’t so much time for the fuss

Or the dates or attention or time that we had,

But that doesn’t mean our love’s old or is bad.

It’s different and shared, but the spark is still there,

It’s just covered in pink stuff and snot in our hair,

And sometimes we’re knackered or covered in poo

But I still love you as much as when I said “I do”.

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Happy Blog-Birthday to Mammy!

Today is The S-Mum Blog’s birthday!  It is four years since I began my Blogging journey.

I really can’t get over that.  Four Years?  It seems as if I only started yesterday, and yet so much has happened…

I began with one baby girl and a very careful voice…Four years later and I’m still thinking about Merlot, but I have TWO little ladies and a whole lot less shits to give!

I know my voice.  It is loud and proud.  I have the most incredible MamBam who follow and engage with me every day.  And, I got a national award along the way too. 🙂

So Happy Blogday to me.

I shall be sipping bubbles this weekend to celebrate.  Today, there might be cake.

Actually, there will definitely be cake.

Here’s the first post I ever wrote on the Blog.

Hope you enjoy!

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I am Supermum?

To be someone’s Mum is a gift.  From early childhood, little girls happily play at being mum to younger siblings, or indeed to dolls, or pets.

Me, I’m the proud and doting mum of a 3 year old Drama Queen, and I am happy to admit, that I am STILL playing!  No handbook arrived with the little sweetheart.  I don’t have a degree in parenting.  I don’t have a bloody clue really!

I make it up every day.  I make decisions that I know make my own Mum cringe.  I’m sure that at times, my dear Granny shakes her perfectly blow-dried head in horror at my parenting techniques.

In fact, sometimes, I swear that I’m having an outer body experience when I deal with the child.

The Boss, as she has taken to calling her pretty self, stands in front of me; arms crossed, pout perfected, audience’s attention caught and voice ready and poised to hit those terrifying high notes…while I chuckle like a crazy lady as I watch myself try to remain in control;  Deep breaths, calm expression, remind myself that I am the adult here.

“Listen Darling.  We need to leave the toy back on the shelf for another wee child. “

I’m winning.

“Good girl.  Now, come on and we’ll go get a Babychino and then we’ll go home and watch Minions…”  (Yes, blackmail.  Get over it.  It works…sometimes.)

I have her… I just need to get her to take my hand and then we’ll skip happily out of the shop, leaving behind the assembled audience in a cloud of applause, appreciation and awe at how well that mammy handled that…

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!  I NEEEEEEEEEEEED TEDDY!!!!” Cue autotap tears and stratospheric screaming… Oh! and don’t forget the kicks and snake-like movements as I try to lift her gracefully into my arms.

I manage to wrench her under one arm, pick up the bags and move out of the shop.  The audience shake heads and probably judge.  At this moment in time, I want my Mammy!

We reach the bench outside.  I put screaming child down and hunker down to have a positive parenting style talk with her. Her beautiful blue eyes are glistening with tears and her cheeks give the word “Rosy” a new level of meaning.

“Now Madam, listen to me.  Don’t EVER…”

Her attention has been distracted by the huge cluster of helium balloons behind me.

“PEPPAAAAAAA PIG!!!  Mammy wuk!  It’s Peppa Pig bawoooooon!  I NEEEEEEEEED IT”

Tears gone.  Smile on. Adorable wee face up close into mine.  “Pweeeeease Mammy. I wub it!”

“Next day we’re out, I’ll buy you a balloon okay?”

“Okay Mammy!”

And as we skip off towards the car, I look at the messy little head on her, and I know that for all my “playing”, I’m not doing a bad job really.

I am blessed.  I am exhausted.  I am happy.  I would kill for a glass of Merlot.  I am 100% in love with Mini-me. I’m trying my best.

I am Super Mum. 🙂

 

 

I am Stopping the Fat Milk Mum

A note arrived home with Mini-Me yesterday.

She gets milk in school every day. Has done, will always do.

And yet this morning, on the wee bill that comes every term, was a note telling us that she has informed her Teacher that she know longer requires milk.

Rightly, the note asked us to confirm our decision to pull out of the scheme.

Mini-Me drinks more milk than a baby calf.  She’d live on milk alone if truth be told.

This makes approximately NO sense to us.

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“Why have you told Múinteoir you don’t want milk anymore?”

“Mammy, do you KNOW what is IN that MILK they give us?”

“Erm… milk?” (and protein, calcium, goodness and magic methinks…)

“A FULL LAYER of FAT Mammy.  A FULL LAYER!”  She looks as disgusted as I do when someone puts red sauce on mashed potatoes.

“WHAT are you talking about?”

“There is FULL LAYERS of FAT in that milk and I am NOT drinking it anymore.”

“It’s not full layers Darling.  It’s Full FAT milk.  It’s the exact same as the milk in the glass that you are currently holding (couldn’t make it up I tell you) and it’s good for you.

“But there’s no fat in this milk” she says, puzzled and perplexed, looking into the glass and swishing it around.

Perhaps she expected to see a layer of glumpy, gloopy chickeny fat floating on the top.  When she thinks fat, she thinks grease in a chip pan, or on a frying pan.  I suddenly have an image in my head of the stuff that you see in the tubes on those hideous TV shows about Liposuction, being poured onto the milk.

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And then I get why she freaked out.  Because my clever little munchkin didn’t realise that there are different forms of fat.  She had herself convinced that the milkman who delivers the magic and cute little mini cartons to her school, was on a mission to poison her!

Sometimes, she cracks me up… and sometimes she reminds me that she is only so very ickle and that actually, she doesn’t fully understand what is being said to her. But thank God for notes from Múinteoir, because God only knows what kind of big fat conspiracy theory would have been swirling around in the playground!

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