I am Someone’s Lowered the Loo Mum

I missed 2 sessions with Jim last week while Princess was indulging in Pukefest #38 of 2017.

I returned yesterday.
Today, I am thoroughly convinced that some gobshite has been sneaking around my house lowering the toilets while I was at work. I swear to God, they’re at least 6 inches lower than normal.

I was incredibly grateful that there are no stairs between my classroom and the coffee room… sorry, staff room… at work today. I might have made it UP the stairs, albeit it with accompanying soundtrack of “ow, ow, ow, ow…” but I may have had to slide or roll down them. It amuses me no end however when my colleagues hobble past me and hiss “I hate your Husband”. We’re all in this together… πŸ˜…πŸ˜…

I am also glad we built a BUNGALOW. Otherwise, I would indeed be sleeping on the sofa tonight. πŸ˜…

There is pain, but it’s good pain.
It’s ridiculous how missing just a few sessions can affect my mood so much. I’m a whole lot less hormental when I get my few hours in.

What was it that Elle Woods said?
πŸ‘œπŸ’žπŸ‘‘”Endorphins make you happy.”πŸ‘œπŸ’žπŸ‘‘
Well this is true. And battering the bejayzuz out of things in The Him’s Jim, definitely releases my inner Elle Woods.

I’m not sure how impressed The Him was at my analogy of how to do one of the exercises properly however. He calls it a “squat thrust”, which sounds altogether inappropriate and sordid and difficult.
I prefer “the bend and snap!” πŸ˜πŸ˜†

In other news, did you know that if someone in your child’s school tells her that they are cousins, then no matter HOW much you tell her they’re NOT, you are WRONG?
Also, if you correct one of her Irish words, you are WRONG because “our Iwish is different than yours”? AND if you tell her that it’s bedtime, apparently you’re the spawn of Satan and need to be screamed at and stomped at for precisely 17 minutes?

And so begin the Teenage years.
How was your day?
πŸ˜₯πŸ˜₯πŸ˜₯

I am Slightly Ashamed Mum

Mammy is slightly ashamed of herself.
Today, Mammy reached a new low.

Mammy put her 23 month old between herself… and a snake: A teeny, tiny, shitty, scrawny fecking snake.

But Mammy here was so petrified with terror that I hid…BEHIND my baby.

We were at a party which had a (really cool) mini farm outside, all bunnies and hedgehogs and sheep and chickens. Nice animals. Proper animals. πŸπŸ‘πŸ‡πŸ°πŸ

I was sitting on the floor inside with Princess on top of me, playing happily and chatting to my brother. Next thing, in barges the wee man of the house with a snake…a REAL LIFE living, hissing, breathing, bastarding REPTILE… around his wee shoulders.

The Grannies and Aunties in the room FREAKED out; some with fear and swear words to make even ME blush, others with laughter at their reaction. πŸ˜‚

Me?

I froze in terror, forgot to breathe and HID behind my baby, eyes closed. I couldn’t function… Even when my brother quietly told me “It’s gone…” I couldn’t move. I was afraid that if I opened my eyes, the red-eyed feckingwrither would have been hissing in my face, like an angry wee penis.

The room quietened down. Brother Dearest said it again, laughing “Relax yourself you madwoman, it’s gone.”

I slowly lifted my head and peeped out from behind my little curly headed saviour, to see my cousins looking at me. As I loosened my vice-grip on my poor child, one of my favourite wenches said “Tell me you did NOT just hide from that snake BEHIND your Baby?”

And then they laughed… and laughed and laughed. Bitches.😍

And after I stopped shaking and began breathing again, I too laughed.

Of course the poor wee snake was probably more petrified than I was, and had it been a REAL danger, OF COURSE I would have drop-kicked the slithering bellycrawling demon out the door, but I KNEW she was perfectly safe; partly because her big strong uncle was beside her, and partly because, well, it’s Princess…and she doesn’t KNOW waht fear is. Seriously, she could take on ANYTHING.
Hitler would run away from her if she was in the right mood.

Had it been Mini-Me, there’s a good chance I’d have been out the feckin window.πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

Yup. Mammy fail.
Big time.
I’m not even afraid to admit it. 😣😣😣

(But it gave the cousins a laugh if nothing else. Cough *brats!)

#mammyisachickenshit

I am Sleeping on my Head Mum

Well my little Princess is much better. Thank you for all the messages.

When Mini-Me was her age, she used to wake up at 5am and come into the bed between The Him and I for a wee snooze. She’d choose which of us she wanted to snuggle, swing her wee arm around a neck and settle in for another sleep. ❀❀❀

Princess has NEVER been like this. 😢
She only sleeps in our bed if she’s sick.
This morning, she woke at 5.30am. Being the knackered Mombie that I am after 3 rough days and 3 nights of no sleep, I brought her in between us, praying that she’d go back to sleep for an hour.
Lo and behold, she did.

She wrapped herself like a fecking CAT around my head, and no matter how many times I gently moved her off me, she shuffled her fudgybum back onto me each time.

I woke up looking right into her perfect wee face, innocent and still, breathing little kitten breaths ❀ and cooing gently, and I filled with a warm fuzzy fluffy joy at the sight.😍 She looked just like her big sister. I closed my eyes, savouring the feeling of her nose against mine…and then I remembered WHY I had brought her into the bed and I FROZE!

You see, princess is a silent puker. When she is sick, there is NO SOUND.
NONE… NOT A PEEP.
Just puke.
And no sleep. (Just me, sitting up in the bed, snoozing, WEARING my glasses, ready to grab her and the basin in 0.4 seconds.πŸ˜₯πŸ˜‚)

And so I remembered VERY quickly that it wasn’t my LOVE of having Baby-in-the-bed, but rather my FEAR of Baby-in-the-puke that made me break the norm and bring her in to my bed. And I realised that if she DID indeed decide to, the my face was 100% in line for a face mask.

I wasn’t long forgetting the warm fuzziness and manoeuvring that pretty little face away from mine Ladybelles, let me tell you.πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚ I don’t think I’ve moved that fast EVER before!

Thankfully, she’s much better and thanks to magic pink medicine, normality has resumed.

The only side effect is that she seems to have grown a set of fluffy Bear earsπŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡,

…but I’ll take fluffy bear ears over sad panda eyes and puke ANY DAY! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

In other news, did you KNOW that cutting a child’s toast into triangles instead of windows is a bonafide reason for WW3 to break out in your house before 8am?

Silly Daddy. 😯

(How cute is the wee band? €4 in Dunnes Stores Ladybelles! )

I am Stop Bump Shaming Mum -Part 1

Yes. Β I’m saying it.

Stop Body Shaming bumps.😑
Body Shaming happens to all women, of all ages, of all shapes and sizes, all the time…EVEN, believe it or not, during Pregnancy. 😲
Yes, Pregnancy…
You know that time when you are eating for two and are supposed to GLOW like a fricken Christmas Tree and your body is a temple of growth and nurture, for all to admire and be in awe of?Β  Β  Β When you’re also a hormonal wreck, paranoid, vulnerable and particularly susceptible to tears? 😒😒

When you’re growing a PERSON inside of you; sometimes more than one, πŸ˜₯and you are officially exempt from giving a continental crap about your shape for the next year and more?
Yes. Even then.
Body shaming the Bump DOES happen.

It’s not usually intentional, but it happens.
I have a confession to make.
During my last pregnancy… (and I mean last in both senses of that word!)…I did something mean. 😈
I got so fecking SICK of people freaking out when they saw the size of my bump, that one day I decided to have a little fun with it.
I was HUMONGOUS. Β (And no, I am NOT exaggerating. Β Ask ANY of my family or friends and they will smile a meek smile and nod in agreement.) And just to prove how big my perfect bump was, the photograph below was taken when I was 36 weeks. Β And I wasn’t quite as big as I would be at 39! πŸ˜‚πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

With Mini-Me, I showed at 10 weeks.

With Princess, I got to 7 weeks before I got fed up trying to hide my bump.

I have always been quite slim so in fairness, trying to hide a bump was never going to be easy, but even loose tops didn’t cover my little (or not so little) secret.

We never really got the chance to keep it to ourselves until after the 12 week scan, so you can imagine how big I was by 31 weeks. Β I looked bigger than most expectant Mammas look at full term. πŸ˜‚

I walked into a shop at the end of 31st week and the look of panic on the shop assistant’s face when she clocked the BUMP was hilarious. Β She approached me and flew through the usual chitchat to get straight to her point.
“When are you due love?”

I couldn’t help myself my Pretties. Β It was out before I even thought about it.
“Ten days ago”, I answered, shaking my head and rubbing my big belly, “I’m hoping a walk around the shops will help get me started.” (added puffs for effect…pause as if whincing in pain…)

“Here let me help you!” Β I swear to God, she ran around that shop filling Β my wee basket so quickly, I really couldn’t keep up with her.

“All the best now Lovey, I hope all goes well!” she cooed after me as I left. Β I’m pretty sure she needed a strong drink after that. Β and yes, I shouldn’t have lied, but I was fed up.
For almost 10 months, you become the property of the world. Β (and yes, it is 10 months…9 my arse.)
EVERYONE has an opinion.
You’re so HUGE!”Β Β (Really? Β I hadn’t noticed. Β Is that why my pelvis is dragging on the ground when I walk?)😐
“I was never as big as you!” Β (Piss off.) 😐
“Aw poor Maria. Β You must be scundered…” Β (No Deary. Β I’m just pregnant.)😐

“Well Tracy SAID you were huge but I didn’t think you were THIS HUGE!” Β (Yup. Β For this one, I had to kick my sister under the table to stop her from DESTROYING the unintentionally offensive woman.)πŸ˜…

“Is it heavy?” Β  (In fairness, this question was from a lovely friend who has bever been pregnant so it was a genuine question and I gave her a genuine answer…”Yes. Β I feel like I’m carrying an articulated fecking LORRY on my ladybits.”)
“I suppose you can barely move with that bump?” Β (God Noooo!Β  I’m just back from Irish Dancing. Β I’m high kicking Higher than ever before!)πŸ˜‚

Aaaaaaah you’re not THAT big!” Β OK, OK. Β Who am I kidding? Β I NEVER heard this one! πŸ˜…πŸ˜‚

“You must be nearly due?” Β (No I’m only 28/30/32/34 weeks…cue shock/horror/sympathy/panic on their face.)
And these are only the few I remember.
And so maybe now, you understand why I played the trick.
Do I feel guilty? No, but I felt really fricken frustrated a few weeks later when I didn’t have the balls to go in with my even BIGGER Bump and I really wanted a certain cheese the lady stocked. πŸ˜†πŸ˜†
But seriously, Stop it. Β We all need to stop it. (And of course I include myself in this. Β We ALL do it don’t we?)

In fairness, we don’t even realise we’re doing it.

The things we say to a pregnant lady are usually not intending ANY offence AT ALL. Β Of course not.
But if you’re going to say anything, try not to comment on the bump.
Tell her she looks glowing, even if you think she looks knackered.

Tell her she’s gorgeous, even if she looks like the double decker Bus she feels like she’s carrying.

Tell her it suits her. Β She might just need to hear that, but don’t comment on the size of the bump, regardless whether it’s big or small.
The Mammy who hears “You’re so neat”, might have spent the whole night up counting baby’s kicks, or panicking that her bump is too small compared to others. 😣

The Mammy who hears “You’re huge!” doesn’t need to be reminded. Β Trust me, she already knows. She remembered once she opened her eyes this morning and tried, like an upturned turtle, to get out of the bed to pee. πŸ˜…
So keep it positive and keep it off the bump.

And yes I know that many people don’t mind and maybe even enjoy the attention the bump brings, but unless you’re telling them their bump is gorgeous, just Ssssssh!
And then…THEN comes the Post Baby body Shaming but that’s another post altogether. I’ll save that for Moody-Mum Monday.
Goodnight you #GlammyMammies.
You’re beautiful and your bump is perfect. Β That is all you need to hear.

S-Mum Β xxx

pregnancy-784671__340

I am She’s not quite getting it Mum

Mini-Me: Mammy, Did you know Uncle D and Aunty P gotted maawied FREE times?

Mammy: Three times? Why do you say that?

Mini-Me: Sure cos dey have FREE children. Dat means dey gotted maawied free times.

Me: Oh Really? (I’m pretty sure there’s nothung FREE about 3 kids!) And so how many times have Uncle C and Aunty B been married?

Mini-Me: Eh you KNOW dat? DEY have TWO children so TWO times like…

Me: And does that mean me and Daddy got married twice too?

Mini-Me: Yes. You and Daddy gotted maaaaawied twice. Once for me. Once for Fudge. (Her nickname for the littlest shitster πŸ’–πŸ˜†)

Me: Gosh I don’t remember getting married twice Daddy, do you?
(And I know I’d remember having had a new dress and fab shoes and another hen party… come to think of it, is it time to renew our vows yet? πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚)

He laughs. And then…

The Him: So do you have to get married EVERY TIME you get a new baby?

Mini-Me: Yup. (Smugness personified.. πŸ™ƒ)

The Him: Did YOU know that your Granny M (The Queen Mother of all the world) had TEN Babies?

Mini-Me: πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

Speechless

That’s a WHOLE lot of weddings eh? And a WHOLE lot of dresses. 😘

πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

#innocence #speechless

I am “Sort out that Bull” Mum

Just another Saturday Morning…

I’m driving along, with Granny Dearest in the passenger seat and the two Minions behind me. Mini-Me has told 32 stories in 3 miles. I’m just about to tune out, glad that Granny Dearest is on with me to answer her. I don’t have to “Mmmmhmmm” and “Really?” and “Very good” like a broken record. Granny Dearest is doing a great job of making all the right sounds. I’m humming along to Despasito, when I hear a new conversation begin.

“Granda needs to move them Bulls out of the field Gwanny,” announces Herself.

“He’ll be bringing them in soon pet” answers Granny.

“No, no, no, no, but He Needs to take the Bull out of the field Right NOW.”

“Why Darling…?” (Oh Jeeeeesus I suddenly know where this is going.)

“Because that Bad Bull HURTED one of my wee Cows.” ( Granny Dearest takes a breath and I know that SHE also now knows where this is going.)

“Buckle Up Granny Bear” I mutter, knowing full well what is about to come out of her mouth and wondering WHEN she saw it, and WHY she is only telling me now?

“You see my wee cow Ellie was scratching her neck at the feeder that Granda weft in the field and that big, bad, black bull pushed her out of his way and he hurted her and it wasn’t very nice. That bad Bull CLIMBED up on Ellie’s BACK… and do you KNOW what he did THEN?”

Oh Sweet Jezabell… WHAT is about to come out of my child’s mouth?

“What Darling?” I just about get the words out. I can’t breathe.

“That Bull started RUNNING Granny! ON HER BACK! He is NOT a very nice Bull.”

That’s it. Granny might need a defibrillator in the passenger seat. I’ve pulled in and stopped at the junction. Trying to drive right now is NOT an option. Granny Dearest is turning a perfect shade of magenta, as she tries and fails to hold in her laughter because Mini-Me can see her face from where she sits on her innocent, self-righteous little throne.

I on the other hand am buckled over the steering wheel, in hysterics laughing, while Granny tries to redirect the conversation to a safer and saner place.

“Oh no. The poor wee cow. Maybe the Bull was just playing?”

“Nope. He was being mean. And poor Ellie couldn’t get away.”

“Was she giving him a piggy back maybe?” I venture through the tears.

“Now Mammy. (teenage eyeroll included here). They are COWS, not Piggies. Granda doesn’t HAVE pigs. You KNOW that…”

And that’s that. Granny explodes and I crack up completely.

“It’s not funny you guys. It’s for REAL LIFE
(This is her new one. Everything is “for real-life”.)

“You’ll have to tell Granda when we get home pet,” Granny has composed herself enough to be coherent. I’m still parked on the side of the road…

“I will. I’ll have to tell him to sort that Bad Bull out!”

(I think Ellie might have already done that. Lucky Bull. I now know how I’ll start my answer whatever day she asks where babies come from. “Well Darling. Do you remember that day the bull and Ellie were… )

#thedonegalmammy #thesmum #bull

I am Suffering Mum

Notes to Mammy…

1. Mammy is not 20.
2. Mammy can NOT drink whatever is set in front of her.
3. Mammy + mixing drinkiepoos = bad idea…ALWAYS.
4. Mammy SHOULD know better.
5. The first time Mammy thinks that maybe she’s had way more than enough and PROBABLY should go home, she should. She is right.
6. Mammy should not jive with ANYONE, especially if they are considerably shorter than her heeled self.
7. Mammy must remember that while a good big meal is a good idea before supping beverages, supping beverages before and DURING said meal, defeats the fricken purpose.
8. Mammy is NOT a feckin Pussy Cat Doll and should therefore not “Shake it off” or “drop like it’s hot” or any other such teenage nonsense
9. Mammy should only partake in Saturday nights out IF she has all of the uniforms ready for Monday, house sorted and general shot together BEFORE she goes out.
10. Mammy should remember that just because she is dying a death, Mini-Me still talks ALL DAY and Princess still POOS frequently.
11. Mammy should not watch an All Ireland Final the next day…
12. Mammy must also remember that while The Him is very kind and allows her to die a little inside, he will also take every opportunity to laugh at her, torture her and remind her of point number 1…

#neveragain #untilnexttime #fml #gettingtoooldforthisshit #gincident #greatnight #notsogreattoday