I am Start Taking the Compliments Mum

“Your daughter is beautiful.”   Aw she is, isn’t she? Thank you.

“I love her coat.”  I know, isn’t it gorgeous?

“Your son is so funny.”   Yeah, he cracks me up.

“You look gorgeous.”  Aye right, I haven’t even brushed my hair.

I love your top”   Penney’s best.

Those are nice jeans.”  Oh I’ve had these old things for years.

Is that a Hilfiger shirt?”  It was on sale!

Notice anything?

We don’t know how to take a compliment.  Nothing new there.  We all knowthat the Irish don’t take compliments well. We are suspicious of them. We don’t like them.  For some reason, they make us feel very uncomfortable.

But when someone compliments our kids, we are more than happy to agree with them. If someone points out something positive about your little minion, chances are that you will be delighted that they’ve noticed and you will nod in agreement, as proud as punch.

However, if the same person tells you with their next breath that your hair is lovely, you will most likely find yourself disagreeing and parting your hair to show them just how badly your roots need redone.

So what the hell is wrong with us?

If I tell Mini-Me that she looks beautiful or that her hair is pretty, she smiles at me and says “Thanks Mum” or “I know!”  (shock horror!)  She takes the compliment.  She doesn’t NEED it to feel better or to affirm her or any other such nonsense.  She takes it, because at 5 years old, she doesn’t find it strangethat someone would praise her or compliment her.  It is not unusual to her that someone might point out something positive.  She is not suspicious of compliments.  She doesn’t need to be.

So when does that stop?  When will she suddenly begin to apologise for her positive features?  When will she become flushed with embarrassment because someone comments on how well she dances?  What will happen to make her suddenly feel that she should disagree with someone who tells her she is clever, or pretty, or talented or funny?  Will she simply wake up some morning, feeling the need to apologise for being good at something, or for being nice?

Now, of course I know that we must teach them to be humble also.  No one likes a boaster.  But why the hell should we teach them that they should apologise for being good at something?  Why should we teach them to disagree with someone who is genuinely being nice to them?  

When did humility become humiliation?

Because somewhere along the way, we’ve confused the two.   

If someone admires your hair today, reply by saying “I know! It’s sitting nice today isn’t it?”  I dare you.  And watch their reaction. It’s pretty likely that they’ll flinch in surprise.  If someone admires your top, try “Thanks, I like it too.” (Would you have bought it if you didn’t?) If someone points out something that you are good at, thank them and tell them “Yeah, I try hard.”  

If they walk away from you thinking you’re big headed or conceited, then who has the problem?  If they meant the compliment, they won’t mind that you agree with them.  

Does it not make sense that if we were to let our kids see us accepting compliments more comfortably, maybe we’d be helping them?  Our kids learn by watching us, our behaviours, our responses. Someday soon, when Mini-Me hears me answering “Oh God, this old thing?” or “Aw my skin’s a mess” or “God now, I sound dreadful!”, then she’s going to store it in her bank of “Acceptable grown up things to say” isn’t she?  

And therein begins that humiliation.

We all do it.

I do it.  I did it yesterday when a friend praised me.  I automatically told him he was full of nonsense.  Why? If he hadn’t thought I was good, he wouldn’t have bothered to tell me I was, so why did I disagree with him?  

Because we are trained, somewhere along the line, to apologise for ourselves.  Because acknowledging our own strengths and positive characteristics is seen as terribly obnoxious and wrong.  Because one day, without even realising it, we learned that to accept a compliment was wrong.  

We’re hardwired to think the worst about ourselves; to worry about what others think.  Being a parent brings a new level of this.  We are constantly comparing ourselves, berating ourselves, apologising for our decisions, for our behaviour, for our children’s behaviour.  But the sooner we can rewire ourselves to look more closely for our own positives, the more chance we have of teaching our children that it’s OK to say “thank you” when someone compliments us.

Plenty of people will thrive on bringing them down, on highlighting their weaknesses and flaws.  We need to teach them to recognise those people. And we need to teach them that if someone feels the need to comment on them in a negative way, then it’s that person who has the problem, and not them. 

So accept the compliment.  Let your children hear you accepting it.  Let them see that it’s OK to be proud of yourself sometimes and that you don’t need to ever apologise for being good, or kind, or talented or clever.  

And give someone a compliment today too.  You never know whose day you’ve just made.

By the way, you have a lovely smile.


I am She flipped the Bird Mum

Sweet Jebus and Baby Japonica of the Netherregions, I may actually vomit from laughing tonight.
The photograph below might seem terrible and offensive.  The photograph I SHOULD post with this post, WOULD be terrible and offensive, because it SHOULD have my beautiful 5 year old in it instead of me. 😣

Let me explain…
Mini-Me is a picker.  She LOVES to pick things, but she especially loves to pick her fecking nails. 
Now, this is a habit that is becoming a problem. She has the nails so picked down that they are barely even nails anymore; more like extended cuticles.  I am at my wit’s end.
I’ve tried everything.  I’ve explained. I’ve scolded. I’ve tried to talk to her. I’ve shouted. I’ve bought fidget spinners. I’ve tried to teach her how to click her fingers and on the advice of a kiddy O.T., shown her lots of alternative things to do with her fingers. I’ve tried everything.  Blutac works, but only until it gets stuck in the carpet, or her hair, or until Princess tries ro eat it. 😂
So I’m now trying what EVERY Mamma resorts to in the end.
 Blackmail.
I’ve told her that if she can get a white nail back on her 10 fingers, I’ll take her to my beautician to get her a glittery polish.  
She’s trying soooooooooo hard.  Soooooooo hard in fact, that tonight when I mentioned that her nails were still very sore looking and that I can’t wait to see them qhen they get longer, she ran across the room at me, eyes bulging in her head, shouting with excitement  “But LOOOOKIT Mammy! I DOOOOOOO have one white nail on DIS HAND, LOOK!”
And it was clear to see that on her MIDDLE finger, there is a tiny slither of white appearing.
I almost died.
Trying so hard not to buckle laughing in front of her, I managed to praise her and tell her it looks so much stronger and that it’ll soon be time to go to get them polished.
She skipped off to show Princess (yup. Finger up into her wee face!) shouting behind her “I can’t WAIT to show Granny my nail tomorrow!” (Granny, you’ve been warned…😂😂)
So IF we meet you out and about over the weekend and my Darling Mini-Me “flips you the bird” or whatever you’d like to call it, please know that it is VEWY innocent and not at ALL because she sees it at home. I may swear like a sailer, but I would NEVER do this in front of her, (well, not to her FACE anyway!😂😂)   
So I hope you understand why I chose to stage the pic? As much of a Feck-it-up as I may sometimes be as a Mammy, I’m NOT quite THAT bad. 

Not yet anyway! 
Now, decisions.
Red or white? Glass or bottle?
How was your day? 

😂😂😂😂

I am Scary Clippers Mum 

Feck-it-up Friday seems an appropriate day for this smumble!  😘
Being pregnant is scary.  You worry about everything; the pregnancy, the birth, how you’ll be as a Mammy. You think about the things that are frightening you already, even before Baby arrives; feeding, burping, sickness, temperatures, exhaustion, “doing the right thing” etc etc.
But one of the worst experiences of being a Mammy is one that you would never even consider during pregnancy.  The true horror of this particular terror only enters your mind when you are faced with it for the first time.
I am of course referring to the “Cutting of the nails”.

The first time you realise that your minion’s nails might need trimmed, is a milestone. You remain calm. You pull out the little cute scissor and clipper set that came in a baby shower gift.  It’s no big deal.
And then, you hold the little clipper, hovering over their little soft nails, wondering wtf to do…
It’s possibly one of the worst fears you’ll ever experience.  What if she moves? What if your hand shakes? What if you cut him?

And yet, like every challenge you’ve faced in the past 10 months, you take a deep breath and go for it.  And most of the time, you are so careful that OF COURSE, you are succesful and the little nails get trimmed.
And the fear might lessen, but it never goes away.
You grow confident.

You get comfortable.

You stop thinking about it… and then it happens.
You nip his or her little finger, just ever so slightly, but enough to make them catch THEIR breath, start suddenly and then scream a cataclysmic howl that rips every shred of your being and soul to smithereens… It crushes you.
You drop the clippers. You instinctively pull the wee hand to your mouth. You kiss the fingers. You clutch the baby so close to you that you feel every molecule of her pain as you try in vain to sooth them.  You sob with them, trying so hard to calm them. You wish you could rewind 2 minutes. You curse yourself for being the worst Mammy in the world. You eventually find the baby settling a little, the screams gently easing to little wobbly lipped sobs.  You are afraid to look at the massacred finger, certain that there HAS to be blood everywhere and that you have scarred her for life.
But when you finally look at the little fingertip, chances are the nip is utterly tiny and simply a little more pink than usual.  Ok, so there might be a little cut, but it will disappear as instantly as it happened.

The FEELING however remains in you.  It never leaves.  It’s guilt.  It’s  regret.  It’s self loathing…
and like all the other milestones, it happens to all of us and it’s perfectly normal.
The first time is the worst.  If you’re lucky, it will not happen again.  But you WILL feel the same emotion again at some point, maybe when you step on her toe for the first time, or catch her finger in the drawer, of scratch her thigh with a ring while changing a poonami, or watch her fall right in front of you, but just out of your reach… the list is endless.
Unless you wrap your minions in bubblewrap, they are destined to get hurt. But when you know that the injury has been your fault, there is NOTHING that can make you feel worse.
(Unless you’re my sister, who recently sat a chair leg on Mini-Me’s toe. Mini-Me screamed for 15 minutes. My poor sister was devastated. I was rocking Mini-Me, soothing her while Granny held a cold cloth on her toe and simultaneously trying to convince the Aunty that it was absolutely fine and that she shouldn’t be upset, when Madam announced through her sobs “I…don’t…need….no….naunty….no….more!”  😂😂 THAT made her feel worse I think! 😅😅)
But I digress.
Yes, beware the Clippers.

But remember, that it’s just another Mammy milestone.
Any stories? Feel free to share. 👇👇👇
😘😘😘😘

I am Secrets Mum

Secrets.
As parents we have sooooo many things that we keep from our kids for as LONG as possible.  There are so many truths and realities that we try our hardest to keep from their little eyes and ears.  As time goes by, it seems that our children’s innocence about all things “real life” is being tarnished earlier and earlier.  As parents, we cringe at the thought of the moment when they suddenly ask a particular question, or learn about particular things.
We hope we won’t have to face awkward truths like puberty, sex, the birds and the bees, death etc…until they’ve reached a certain, more appropriate age, where we know that they’ll be able to digest whatever information it is. 😐
But the FIRST TRUTH that we must deal with happens soooooo much earlier than I’d EVER anticipated.
And it isn’t for the sake of our children that we try to keep it a secret…
Oh no no no no no noooooo!
It’s ALL for the sake of the Mammies and Daddies. It’s completely selfish on our parts and it’s completely necessary.
Because the longer we can make it before they realise that the dreaded, awful, ride-on, money eating, monstrocities in the shopping centres MOVE IF YOU PUT MONEY INTO THEM, the better for EVERYONE. 😂😂
These little fuckers are the enemy of the Mammy.  They are EVERYWHERE. They ESPECIALLY like to lurk at the exits of shopping centres or venues, so that they can lure our minions to their daft, bulgy eyed, smiling faces just as we are trying to get them out of the place.  The Peppa Pork ones are the spawn of these Devils.  Even before our minions know they can MOVE, the oversized (and frankly quite creepy) cartoon characters are plague.  Princess can’t say many words but “Paaapaaaaaa” is as clear as a fecking bell when she sees the stupid pink fecker. 😐😐
But as long as they don’t know these things MOVE, life remains safe and normal and manageable.  We can distract them from the primary-coloured puke fest and carry on easily enough.  Once they know that they MOVE, however, the proverbial starts hitting the fan and the coins start hitting the dust.
If 99% of Mammies KNOW instinctively that showing them that these yoks move is a BAD IDEA, HOW do they ever figure it out?
Three ways…
1. They spot another child on them, smiling and weeeeeeeing to their heart’s content and they realise. And then, Game Over Mamma. You lose. 😂
2. Daddies… Because Daddies don’t view these feckers with the same reason or ration that Mammies do. Daddies don’t think of the longterm effects.  Daddies don’t UNDERSTAND the turmoil and torture and tantrums they can cause! 😭 WE see them as torture equipment. Daddies see them as 30 seconds of fun to distract their little ones and themselves. (And they NEVER last more than 30 seconds do they?) 😂😂
3. Grannies/Grandas:  Because they FORGET why they NEVER ALLOWED US on them when we were kids and suddenly see them as another way to be cool and wonderful and “the bestest!” 😂😂😂
And once the minions KNOW that these mechanical gobshites MOVE, life is never the same again.  They are armed with this knowledge that changes everything. They see things differently.
To the Mammies whose minions are still immune to the disease that is the ride-on yok, enjoy every second.  Enjoy the innocence.  Enjoy the secret and keep it from them for as long as you can.  😂😂
To the rest of us… may the odds be ever in your favour and may there be an alternative door you can use to get out of that shopping centre.😥😥
And to the creators of and instellers of them, may your nightmares be filled with rocking Peppas and smiling trains, choochooing around your head…all…fecking…night. 😂😂😂
👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇

I am Starfish Mum

Today is Memory Monday.
I had a savage blast from the past this week Ladybelles.  💗

On my Instafeed, there popped up a beautiful photograph of a friend’s beautiful wee babby.
Nothing unusual there?
But I felt like a truck had hit me.

Why?
Because the perfect little one was wearing a hip harness and suddenly I was back 5 and a half years, remembering things that I haven’t thought about in, well, 5 and a half years.
Mini-Me wore the same little hip harness for 9 weeks.  Her hip dysplasia was diagnosed when she was just 24 hours old.  A student doctor spotted it, and within a few hours, she’d been fitted into the contraption that would (and thankfully did) fix her little hips.
She’d been breach from 28 weeks in my womb and was born by C-Section, folded in half with her left leg up against her left ear. Her wee ear was bent forward, that’s how crushed over she’d been!  (I remember laughing because the Furbaby came to us with a floppy left ear too.  The things that go through your head eh? 😂😂)
But anyway, in the space of a 10 minute examination, everything changed.  Now, in hindsight, we know we were soooooo lucky.
We were lucky that the student Doctor had been invited to check her. The Doctor had missed it.  We were lucky that the hospital had one of the little harnesses in stock, so she didn’t have to wait in pain.  We were lucky in that she responded well and after 9 weeks, we got the bad old harness off.  We were lucky as no surgery was required, and apart from a little phase of physio until she was 2, no follow up action was required.  She didn’t walk until she was 20 months.  In hindsight, I should have enjoyed that!  Princess has been CLIMBING since 11 months and I’m feckin exhausted! 😂😂
It’s not a big deal.  There are a million other things that we could have been told.  There are a million parents who would tut at something as insignificant as hip dysplasia.  In the scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing that will happen.  And yet, when I saw this photograph, I was over run by emotions and memories that as I spoke to The Him, I realised that I have pushed to the back of my brain.
And like everything to do with parenting, when it happens to your baby, to you, regardless of how seemingly small the issue is, it’s still your issue and it’s still horrible to deal with.
I was sitting there with my seemingly perfect little girl. and then we were the parents who had to learn how to hold her. Who had to deal with not being able to bathe her ourselves.  Who had to explain why she looked like a wee starfish (so cute).  Who got sympathetic looks from people when we were out and about.
None of the clothes she got could go on her.  She didn’t FIT into the car seat we’d bought for her.  When she had a poonami, she couldn’t be washed properly.  Her skin was chaffed and raw where the harness rubbed constantly.  She was restrained, just when she should have been free to kick and feel.
Of course, we figured out ways to deal with all of these little problems quickly.  The staff in LUH were fantastic. The moment the Doctor pulled her wee legs back and strapped them into the harness, she let a huge sigh out of her and fell asleep instantly.  She slept for 6 hours straight.  She had been in so much pain up until then.  Every time I had changed her nappy, I had wondered why she was screaming.  Then I suddenly knew and ironically, it was that realisation of her pain that softened the blow for us. So we did what all parents do.  We pulled ourselves together and got on with it and where we couldn’t shower her with water, we showered her with kisses.  😘😘

Yes it was horrid.  Of course it was hard, as a first time Mammy especially, to suddenly have everything change.  My expectations shifted.  My visions of nightly bath routines and pretty outfits went quickly out the window, but we got on with it.
And in hindsight, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Except that it obviously was more upsetting for me than I gave myself credit for.  The photograph brought back so many memories, good and bad.  It got us talking about our little Mini-Me and those few weeks.
And it made me wonder why I’ve never thought about it?  Why I’ve never thought to write about it?  Why have I put it all so far away into my mind?  I have no idea.  I was so relieved the day that the consultant took the harness off her.  And once the physio told us that she was developing just fine, slowly but fine, I cried with joy.
The day that I saw the photograph of my lovely friend’s little starfish, My Mini-Me had won the sack race in the school sport’s day and was on stage dancing that night.  And so my memory flashes were short-lived and my next reaction was that I needed to tell my friend that it will all be worth it.  That it’s a good thing that it was detected early.  That it’ll be off before she knows it.  I told her the little tricks that we found, like using emulsifying ointment and light bandages to stop the skin chaffing. Like putting light tights for age 3-4 over her wee legs and how she can still put on pretty dresses.
But most importantly, that it’s completely fine that she’s finding it difficult to deal with or to feel upset, because there is no Blue Peter Badge for brave Mammies and Daddies and sometimes, shit things happen.😳
But thankfully, in our case anyway, things were and are fine. (Look at how cute our little Starfish was!  It was actually hard to get used to needing 2 hands to hold her after the harness came off!)  She is sine and my friend’s little one will be too
So there we go.  Have to be serious sometimes you know!?.
Has anyone else dealt with hip dysplasia?  Do you have any tips or advice that you’d like to share below for my friend or any other Mama who might be dealing with it right now? Please share or PM me if you’d rather not be identified.
Hope you all had a lovely day. 💙💙💙💙
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