​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.πŸ˜‚
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. πŸ˜†

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… πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

I am Sometimes I need my Mamma Mum πŸ˜š

​Sometimes, S-Mum needs her Mamma too. πŸ‘­
This evening I HAD TO stay at Mum’s for a few hours after work. 
See my driveway was full of lorries and diggers and workmen.  It looked like the opening of “Fraggle Rock”, so I was FORCED to pop in to hers for an hour…or three!
She drank tea.🍡

I drank coffee.β˜•

We ate cake…(Seriously guys, she is THE BEST BAKER in the world. Click onto Cakes by Ann to see!)🍰
She cooked dinner.

Princess rearranged ALL of her cupboards.


Mini-Me provided a moment of immense achievement for Techy-Granny as her demands for Inside-Out caused Granny to figure out how to work the Brother’s Playstation as a DVD player!  

I am in AWE of this woman.

I wouldn’t even know where the on switch is.πŸ˜…
And then, I brought my Minions home and we have just had the most suspiciously calm and ordinary bedtime EVER…
This morning however?
This morning was not so calm.😭😭😭
We slept in.

I had NOTHING DONE before bed last night, because the smug TIT that is S-Mum had planned the usual 5.30am start and didn’t consider ironing uniforms or making lunches before bed.  Clever Mummy.
We were running on the dodgy side of late.

I dropped Princess next door, realised I’d forgotten her dummies (not just 1 for my ruined rascal!), jumped back into the car to grab them from the house, spun the car BACK AROUND because of Big Digger SUDDENLY BLOCKING my driveway, ran back into Mum’s, kissed the Baby and apologised profusely for lack of dummies, jumped back in car, remembered I’d forgotten her bibs and FINALLY started on our journey to school…feeling UTTERLY FRICKEN USELESS! πŸ˜‚
Mini-Me THANKFULLY announced that she wanted Quiet time, so I allowed myself to be soothed back into a more positive vibe with the familiar soothing tones of Donal K on the radio machine… 
My train of thought followed this track:

“Snap out of it S-Mum.

You forgot her dummies, not her.

She’ll be fine.

Mum will get one from some magical place and Princess will not even know what a shit Mammy you are.

This is NOT a problem…

Other people have REAL problems…

Get over yourself…

Stop stressing…

Let that car out in front of you…

There we go…karma being restored already.

Positive thoughts only.

Practice what you preach…

Deep breaths…

Negativity breeds negati…
“Mammy.”

“Yes Darling?” 

“Why am I not allowed milk at school?”

(Vague recollection of note saying milk starts on the 23rd.)

“Of course you’re allowed milk at school Sweetie.”

(Shit.  Racks brain for memory of form to fill in…nope…nothing!)

“Teacher says I don’t get milk. Wilena gets milk coz HER Mammy sent a note and she’s ALLOWED milk, but I’m not, coz you never writed a note.”

(Seriously… I don’t remember ANYTHING about sending in a note. Shit Mummy!😭😭😭)

“Mammy will sort it pet.”
There’s that Train of thought again… like a steam train with a big sign on front of it announcing arrival at “USELESS MAMMY-ville” and whistling “You forgot the dummies Dummy and you didn’t writed a note!”
How easily the silliest things can become HUMONGOUS eh?
I writed the note before she got the bus.

She gotted the milk and so is no longer the unloved child with THAT Mummy.

Mum found a Dummie under the sofa.

Princess was unaware of the utter neglect.

The diggers blocked the driveway.

Granny made the dinner.

The kids went to bed…

Mammy poured a gin…

And they all lived happily ever after. 

πŸ˜‚

I am Shame-on-Body-Shamers Mum

​PART 1…
Yes.  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?

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.  (And no, I am NOT exaggerating.  Ask ANY of my family or friends and they will smile a dim 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.  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, but hey!
So you can imagine how big I was by 30 weeks.  I looked bigger than most expectant Mammas look at full term.  I remember walking into a shop one day at 31 weeks and the look of panic on the shop assistant’s face when she clocked the BUMP was hilarious.  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.  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!”  I swear to God, she ran around that shop filling  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.  I’m pretty sure she needed a strong drink after that.  and yes, I shouldn’t have lied, but I was fed up.
For almost 10 months, you become the property of the world.  (and yes, it is 10 months…9 my arse.)
EVERYONE has an opinion.
“You’re so HUGE!”  (Really?  I hadn’t noticed.  Is that why my pelvis is dragging on the ground when I walk?)😐
“I was never as big as you!”  (Piss off.) 😐
“Aw poor Maria.  You must be scundered…”  (No Deary.  I’m just pregnant.)😐
“Well Tracy SAID you were huge but I didn’t think you were THIS HUGE!”  (Yup.  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?”   (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.  I feel like I’m carrying an articulated fecking LORRY on my ladybits.”)
“I suppose you can barely move with that bump?”  (No.  I’m just back from Irish Dancing.  I’m high kicking Higher than ever before!)πŸ˜‚
“Aaaaaaah you’re not THAT big!”  OK, OK.  Who am I kidding?  I NEVER heard this one! πŸ˜…πŸ˜‚
“You must be nearly due?”  (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.  We all need to stop it. (And of course I include myself in this.  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.  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 articulated lorry she feels like she’s carrying.

Tell her it suits her.  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.  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.  That is all you need to hear. 

S-Mum  xxx

I am So excited Mum

S-Mum is VERRRRRY excited today.

I woke up to this picture.

The lovely folk at Maternity & Infant magazine have featured me as their Blog We Log in theor Autumn edition.

It’s very surreal and wonderfully smilifying to see my words in real live PRINT! 

So because I woke up an A-list CELEBRITY TYPE, I obviously had to go to THE Stylist to the Stars to get my WhinBush tamed.

Ciara Mc Veigh-Lunn is currently Beautifying my mane.😘
One HAS to be looking all naturally fablis and suitably shocked when one greets the Papps who are OBVIOUSLY going to be waiting outside when I try to leave.  
I may have to hire security.
I wonder if Victoria B would consider being my friend now? We could have cawfee and be fablis together. 

 (She’d obvs have to change her hairdresser to be as cool as me.) 
We should be BFFs anyway.
Our Mini-Mes are the same age and we both have fit Hims and we’re practically identical anyway like! I wonder what size her shoes are? Imagine sharing her wardrobe… 😲😲😲

Sigh…
Did I tell you my mug and S-mumblings are in PRINT this morning?πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

Do you think I have enough copies? πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚

It is a Thoroughly Fablis Thursday.

Have a good one Bitcheepooooos xxx

I am Section Mum

It’s Cesarian Section Awareness Month and so I thought I’d reshare this one with you all.

I suppose like EVERYTHING we Mammies have to go through, we all have our own perfects.Β  We all have our own rights and wrongs.Β  We all make our own choices.Β  And sometimes, we have to trust the choices of others.Β  Β Regardless, most of us don’t care how we give birth, as long Baby is born safely.

I’ve had 2 sections, neither by choice, but would I do anything differently? Nope.Β  And does it make me less of a Mammy because I didn’t push my babies out? Well, I think you can imagine my answer to that one.

Too Posh to Push_

 

 

“Are you hoping to do it properly this time?”

I kid you not. Β This is what I was asked recentlyΒ 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. Β I’d answered that it was number two.

“Me too” she smiled. Β Then she asked if I’d had a tough time last time. Β I replied that I’d had to have a planned section. Β Her next line floored me.

“Aw, so are you planning to do it properly this time?”

 

Now in her defense, she was anΒ absolute stranger, who probably didn’t intend any harm whatsoever. Β I don’t think she even realised that she’d said it…but she had.

I smiled politely and said Goodbye. Β 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 couldΒ have just offended or upset the other very pregnant lady. Β 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 lingeringΒ in my mind.

The word “properly” has been bothering me since.

Because not only did itΒ dismiss my first childbirth, it suggested that I did something wrong; that my first birth was improper.

childbirth

Did she automatically assume that I was “too posh to push”? Β 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? Β 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? Β I listen to conversations all the time about childbirth and babies. Β There seem to be so many proper ways to do things.

Without medication. Β With just gas and air. Β With classical music on in the background. Β Without bright lights and alarm. Β Mammas who breathe through the pain are fantastic. Β Those who refuse drugs are wonderful. Β 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 MotherΒ 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 isΒ not what any womanΒ anticipates when thinking of how theirΒ baby will be born. It’s terrifying. Β It’s painful. Β 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. Β There is afterbirth. Β There is pain…by God is thereΒ pain.
There is recovery time. Β There are hormones.
But most importantly, with the help of some higher powerΒ 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. Β It’s about causing as little trauma as possible to your newborn, regardless of what your own body must go through. Β 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. Β How many do you know that have achieved that? Β I’d love to meet them.

Of course I’d love to have experienced childbirth like most women do. Β 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? Β Nope.

If my next child is born by VBAC, will that be more proper than Mini-me’s birth? Β Eh…no!?

ButΒ 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. Β  I’ve already had a proper baby. Β 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 fromΒ 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 sheΒ 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. Β My experience isn’t exclusive. Β 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. Β She knows best and I trust her. Β And because it’s my job too…the only jobΒ a mother has when they go into hospital, is to getΒ 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 x

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