The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Sunday, 31 May 2015
Woodland Warriors.
I've come to realise that i'm quite the outdoors type. A tomboy. A tree hugger. Since having Ethan, I've embraced this side of myself and, while I'm by no means an adventurer, I love getting grubby and down to earth in the woods or on the beach.
Ethan is a total nature kid. He loves bugs, trees and running wild and free. On Friday, we headed to Wat Tyler Park for Woodland Warriors, which is run by the extraordinary Tiffers, whose enthusiasm for nature is catching, for both children and adults of all ages.
We started by sitting in a circle learning about the various songs of different birds and even my 2 year old was interested, holding the different soft toy birds and listening to their songs. The rest of the session was spent on various activities, from bird mask making to swinging in the trees to building a bird nest and making bird feeders.
A highlight for me was making a clay bird with Ethan and the other families, which reminded me of David Almond's novel 'Skellig' and the freedom of his character Mina.
To end the morning, Tiffers lit an open fire for us to cook marshmallows over. Wearing a huge protective glove, Ethan cooked his marshmallow up, learning about fire safety along the way. It was a stunningly beautiful moment to share.
The whole event felt relaxed and yet structured, with a balance of learning and freedom. When helping an older girl to start her own fire the old fashioned way, Tiffers said 'I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just helping', which summed up the overall atmosphere.
I have a feeling William Blake would have more than approved of Woodland Warriors, with his philosophy of embracing the natural intelligence and creativity of children and the magic of our environment.
'How can a bird who is made for joy sit in a cage and sing?'
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
Dressing up games.
When we are children, we love to dress and make believe. My son loves all things pretend and all things fantastic; from superheroes to fairies to animals. Similarly, I teach many students who love to play at make believe, even as children. It seems to help them deal with their issues and, to be honest, sometimes being someone else feels like a better option.
This leads me to my coming weekend. Comicon. Comics. Cosplay.
I am a 30 year old woman, a Mum and a teacher and yet I'm so over excited putting together my catwoman cosplay for the weekend. For just a day, I can at least pretend to be catwoman. How cool is that? To most, probably not all that cool at all but to me, it really is.
In some way or another, don't we all pretend we are someone else? Someone more ideal? Not all the time, but just sometimes. If not for escape, then just for fun! Isn't it time we accepted that children have fun and that the ability to play is important and vital, in fact, to our humanity?
I love that cosplay is something I share with my friends and my son. We both love dressing up and acting, which is something to be celebrated. It isn't forced or fake and my son is surrounded by a wonderful menagerie of family and friends joining in with his fun. What a lovely tradition to continue on as he grows up.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Jekyll and Hyde
Toddlers are fickle beasts. You never know quite how they are going to wake up, change through the day or finish the day. Generally, my son is happy, loving and friendly but he can also be demanding, impatient and angry. Most of all though, toddlers seem to be irrational. The things Ethan gets annoyed about are ridiculous. Recently there was a fallout over the hoover. I wanted to put it away and Ethan wanted to hug it because he 'lubs it.'
Just this evening, Ethan stole a bottle of squash from the kitchen and hid it in a toy box. This was funny and cheeky. What came next was a minor breakdown because I refused to let him drink said squash straight from the bottle, as you can see. Just seconds after this photo was taken, Ethan was sat at the table eating his dinner in absolute perfection.
Toddlers, eh?
Sunday, 25 January 2015
Hard or soft boiled?
Sadly, this isn't another gripping piece about my love of breakfast or TV cookery shows. Incidently, I did make a delicious soft boiled egg for my salad this afternoon.
Anyway, over the past couple of months lots has happened, lots has changed, lots has transposed. Something I have realised, just today, is that over the past 17 months as a single Mum, I made a choice to harden myself. I have always been rather a softie to be honest. A vegetarian at 9, believing in soul mates forever, helping the homeless and volunteering abroad later on.
When my heart was finally and fully broken, I made a decision to be tough and protect myself. Consequently, I changed into a different version of myself, that i'm not all too sure I like. I became less sympathetic of those outside of my close inner circle, I became more judgemental and, as such, more hateful. That's just not me.
Now, I do think I need to protect myself and to be honest, take less shit; does this mean I need to be hard? Of course it doesn't. I like being kind, I like helping others to be happy and I love seeing the brightness in everything. I miss it, in fact.
When talking to a friend about this, she told me 'you are soft and that's why we love you.' That just says it all really.
Contrary to this, my Mum advised me that if I were in fact soft, how the hell did I give birth to a giant baby, in my house, without pain relief? Good point, Mum.
Something to note is that my Mum always makes good points and always has done. No one knows me quite like my Mum.
This got me thinking: are my soft attributes really all that soft? I make a choice not to eat food, which may be delicious, to live by my morals. I travelled to Africa alone, when I had never even left the South of England alone! I saw and heard things there which were painful and I had to leave the beautiful children I met behind me. Soft? No. I have risked and felt heartache because, deep down, I still believe in love. I call that brave.
So, rather than consider myself soft or hard, I'm going for strong. It's far more accurate. I'm a strong mother and strong individual. That's just me.
Monday, 21 April 2014
Parental responsibility and parental guilt.
I carry this concept of 'more' with me in everything I do; most of all in parenting. Should I be doing more as a Mother? Does my son need more? Does he want more? Can I give him more? How can I provide more? More time. More of a home. More of a future.
This is not to say that our life is in any way lacking. We are incredibly lucky to have a home, my income and each other. However, I cannot help but think on a daily basis that I should own a home for Ethan, have savings ready for his future and just provide more for him. Perhaps this is the price we pay for modern existence. We want for more when our lives already hold so much. Or maybe this is something of a personal nature. Something far less political; far less of a social study.
I have been thinking about where this idea comes from and have come to several conclusions. The first is that I have always pushed myself. Whether this be in my career or personal life, I have always expected a lot of myself. I was an 'average' student who achieved highly, I was the unpopular girl who became the centre of attention, I was the goth who settled down to have a family. I always worked hard at whatever my focus was and this still stands today in my rather unusual life.
As a Mother it is impossible for me to reach the heights I aspire to, for what I yearn for is my child to want for nothing and always be happy. Impossible. As parents we want this from the second we are aware of the existence of our child, but it literally isn't possible. Children will be unhappy, as babies, teenagers and adults. As parents I guess all we can do is be there to make the unhappiness slightly less unbearable. What a horrible job that is in reality.
Underneath all of this, at the root of this feeling is a fear of failure. I fear I have suffered failure as a writer, as a singer and as a wife. Now, these things may may not necessarily seem as though they link to a fear of failure as a parent, but one ultimately makes me feel as though I have already failed my son. I wanted my child to grow up with both his parents together as a unit. Maybe I am old fashioned, maybe I was dreaming, maybe it was all a joke.
Jokes aside, I know that my son still has both of his parents and that I am here for him in every way. I do my best for him and he will hopefully grow up understanding that. However much I know this, it doesn't stop my from thinking otherwise. Maybe this is the curse of parenting, or the curse of an analytically inclined mind.
I am not sure exactly.
Perhaps I should just be.
Friday, 11 April 2014
Need, want and independence.
A boisterous toddler, Ethan now has real personality, holds the most basic of conversations and yet has far more complex needs and, moreover, wants than as a baby.
At the weekend, we went for lunch at our local The Alex with friends and got to discussing when Ethan gets older and starts to work. Maybe he will work in a pub. Maybe Auntie Sam, Auntie Katie and Mum will embarrass him by popping in for lunch. What kind of young man will Ethan become? I have an image in my head of what he will look like, what he will sound like, who he will be. The frightening thing is that I have a feeling it won't take long to get to this point.
The last ten years since I was a teenager myself have passed in what seems likes minutes. All of a sudden I am a Mother, with relationships and marriages behind me, sitting on the brink of thirty. This is not to sound negative at all as my life now is richer and fuller than that of my 19 year old self. It has just taken years, yet moments to get here.
Ethan is no longer a baby. That part of his and my life has passed. The night waking, breast feeding and endless rocking is finished. Done. The Ethan of now is loud, excited and sometimes seems to need me less.
Or, does he simply need me differently?
On his first trip into London on Monday, this was more obvious, wonderful and alarming than usual. As we walked the streets of Camden, made friends with animals in the zoo and travelled by train and underground, Ethan seemed to grow even more into a little boy in front of my eyes. He ran with confidence, laughed as an emotional, not biological reaction and was wild with excitement.
There were moments, however, when my little boy still needed me. He didn't need to suckle for nutrition and comfort, but needed to tell me or show me things, to share chips with me and to hold hands while running through puddles.
Similarly, he needs my Mum, his Nan, for cuddles, for laughs and for playtime. He needs his Grandad, my Dad, for walks to the shop, noisy games and secret sweets. Ethan may not need me solely, but he still does. The difference is the wonderful independence he now has. It may feel like rejection and loss at times but, ultimately, I have utilised our close relationship and Ethan's reliance and trust of me to give him an independent and brave spirit. If this gives any prediction of his future young man, he will be an incredible young man indeed.
From this...
...to this...
...to now...
Monday, 15 July 2013
Sun is shining...
To start off our sunny evening, a friend was very kind and gave Ethan and I a lift home from work. This also came with the added bonus of a cornetto! Now, if a cornetto doesn't get you in a summery mood, nothing will! Nothing says summer like cornetto. Literally nothing.
So, after a long day at work/nursery, the three of us headed down to the seafront, met some friends and enjoyed a cold drink with our toes dipped in the lush (if not slightly southend-y) sea! Sun shining overhead, it doesn't get much better and as we wandered along the seafront towards the beach side cafes you couldn't help but feel as though you really were on holiday.
Wearing a bikini and light sundress, hair pushed back it was impossible not to be overcome by the sound of the elements and the laughter of what could have been holiday makers. Ethan absolutely loved walking hastily along the beach and then the front, eagerly 'talking to' and tugging on every passer by, giving a cheeky grin and giggle as he went.
A grin so charming he gained chips and a lolly within minutes of sitting down for dinner! The fish and chips we ordered was fabulous and Ethan's fun continued with colouring, chasing dogs and even a visit to the restaurant kitchen!
I don't often do the 'proud Mummy' thing, even though Ethan makes me proud every single day but tonight I felt truly proud and realised how far we have come so far. Ethan is one of the most sociable children of his age I have seen and so open and trusting. He is desperate to explore and wants to be a part of every piece of action and every moment of life happening right now.
Ethan might be a handful but he is loving, friendly and enthusiastic. We can't ask for much more than that. When me and Charlie first met and dated we could only dream of what our future would hold and the reality is more hard work and more rewarding than we ever hoped of dreamed.
Talking of dreams, Ethan completely crashed out asleep in Charlie's arms on the walk home and went down in his cot with minimal fuss. Over two hours later and he's still there; asleep. Maybe a full day of nursery, followed by friends, sea paddling and exploring the world has finally tired Ethan out! Just maybe we may have cracked it and all it took was a little, or rather a lot of sunshine. I
Monday, 8 July 2013
Why I am a great Mum!
I have decided to start each week with a proclamation of exactly why I am actually a great Mum and my achievements over the past week! Now, please don't think that I am bragging about how amazing I am; I just figured after all the self doubt and guilt we feel as Mothers it is about time we started praising ourselves. After all, being a Mum can be a pretty thankless job at times.
So, last week I have been a great Mum because of the following:
1.) Each night I had a relaxing bath with Ethan before bed.
2.) We took Ethan to a friend's 2nd Birthday party where he ran around and played like crazy, loving the attention.
3.) I cooked nutritious and tasty meals for the family.
4.) I went to work for long hours, including extra tuition and events which helps provide for Ethan and his future.
5.) I spent Sunday with Ethan and Charlie at the park where he ate ice cream, playing on the swings and running barefoot on the grass.
6.) I breastfed Ethan everyday, even at night when totally exhausted from long work days.
7.) When not with him, I left Ethan in a safe and caring environment with people he knows and trusts.
8.) I cuddled and kissed him everyday.
9.) I told him I love him everyday.
10.) I made sure he was as happy as possible everyday.
I am sure we all have our own list of things we do all the time which make us great parents. Why not write yours?
Ethan is my reason behind all of the choices I make. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that I have made the right choices for my family.
Monday, 1 July 2013
Was breastfeeding the right choice?
There are days, however, when I think formula feeding would just be simpler. Mainly when people tell me how their formula fed babies sleep through for several hours at a time! With 11 months without a single full night of sleep behind me, it cuts deep!
Now, I'm sure formula feeding Mums sometimes wish they were breastfeeding for the convenience of no sterilising and making up bottles with the added bonus of comfort through boob! I for one don't envy all that hard work sterilising and mixing powders. I'd be crap at being that organised; my boobs aren't going anywhere after all!
I'm still glad I've breastfed Ethan and he's showing no sign of stopping any time soon. Further, I am fully aware that not all formula fed babies sleep all night but the prospect of it is still a wonderful dream for me to behold. It is, for the majority of the time, a seemingly unattainable dream in our household.
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Why I like the bus (sometimes).
So everyday I get the bus from down the road to the village where I work and most of the time I actually really enjoy it. On the days I don't have Ethan I listen to music, drink tea and either get some marking done or read. It's a rare time to relax on my own or get some work done so I have more family time at the weekend.
For the most part I like it on the days I have Ethan with me going to our on site nursery. While he is a handful on the bus, he experiences meeting a whole range of people, some eager to meet him and some not.
A perfect example is the two ladies who we see most evenings who Ethan has made great friends with. One has wild orange hair, which waves and shakes as she constantly smiles and giggles. Her companion is a tall, strong minded South African woman, who tells fantastic stories of how different South African parenting can be compared to English parenting. Namely giving salty biltong to babies as a teething aid, something our South African friend has spoken about too. Ethan really likes these two ladies and it adds a sweetness to our day.
Next, my students. Fascinated, scared and mainly amused as teenagers would be, it's amazing to see Ethan point and call out to the 'big kids' and just lovely to see them respond to him. One of my students found it quite magical that Ethan was 'talking' to her and holding her hand contently. It's a lovely part of the day.
Don't think it's all smiles, giggles and charming baby talk. It isn't. Some of the time, Ethan screams and wails the bus down when just before he was fine. On one particular day he did a shit of epic standards which I thought was some dirty bastard farting on the bus! I'm opening windows while Ethan sits there smiling literally like a piglet in shit.
The staring is the worst bit. The way people stare as though I need to DO SOMETHING! As though I've not thought of trying teething powder, or a cuddle or a drink or any other idea you may have. I understand a screaming babe is annoying but he is just that, a baby. At times he is an exhausted, teething wind filled baby! He's just telling us all about it!
Anyway, I've now just persuaded myself I actually hate the bus. Thanks blog. It's all your fault.
Monday, 10 June 2013
Only a Mother knows.
From this I have been thinking back on what I really gained, learnt from my childhood and one thing prevails. Be yourself. It may sound cliche but my parents really did and still do accept me and my brother for who we are, who we want to be, who we can be. For myself, I feel incredibly lucky to have parents who have been welcoming and accepting to my friends and past boyfriends. They have always instilled in me a link between my life in and out of their house. My parents have always accepted my hobbies and ever changing aspirations with support but an equal amount of realism. Most of all, my parents have always been open and accepting of my love for the unusual, whether that be fashion, music or tattoos. Although, I should probably add here that it was my Mum who got me into Siouxsie and the Banshees and persuaded me to listen to Marilyn Manson as a Greenday bopping teenager!
My parents have always been interested in our hobbies, our tastes, our life which was great. My Mum and Dad would stand in the crowd of my gigs playing drums in shit indie bands and in my days as an angst ridden goth singer! They even made it to a goth night to watch me DJ and my Mum always made sure I had big pants and tights to wear under my mini skirt! As I say, I think this is what I take most from my childhood and adulthood really: openness and acceptance.
Having such open parents does make it hard fucking work to rebel though. See Mum, I said fuck!
Even in adulthood my parents put up with me going through an array of fashions and phases along with going out with some pretty dodgy characters, several house moves and the decision to undertake teacher training after just 6 months living solo working in London. They still accepted me home for a year to do my teacher training. After this my parents allowed and accepted me travelling to Ghana alone for the summer which, while a woman of 26, I can see now how harrowing this would have been for them. In particular for my Mother, watching me check in at the airport knowing that from that moment on I am alone in an unknown world, without her protection or care.
Being a parent never ends. Being a Mother doesn't stop when they are off your hands. It just gets more difficult, as you are forced to let them go and learn to accept and love a new person. This person still holds the core of your baby, your child but has changed under the influence of not just you but the world outside of you. When we live in a world as cruel as ours, its no wonder this ensues madness.
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Kids are just kids.
Teaching Year 7 and suddenly they jump up, pointing with excitement. It turned up we were on the route of the 'buggy bus', which can only be described as a high tech trailer with seat belts which the poor nursery nurses drag behind them like some kind of farmer's mule while the babies sit back and relax! Seriously, it is fabulous and hilarious at the same time. Turns out Ethan was one of the passengers and we all gave a wave out the window, with lots of 'aahhhhs' from my sweeties of a class.
Once the 'buggy bus' had passed it was time to get back to work: poetry writing. What prevailed was a discussion by the boys in my class of how great it would be to take a ride in the buggy bus and in fact be a baby again! Followed by poems on this very topic.
Turns out kids are always just kids at heart.
Monday, 3 June 2013
Putting your foot in it. Literally.
I am obviously an excited and proud Mother every time Ethan lifts his size 3 1/2 G foot to take a couple of heavy steps like a miniature Godzilla until he falls to his reliable crawling, laughing as he goes down. It's amazing to see his face light up with the strength he is ever building. However, I could do without him trying out this new skill through a shitty nappy change. Being full of energy and an urge to destruct, Ethan isn't exactly enthusiastic about laying still for any length of time. Wriggling with such power it is almost impossible to hold him down, his current playtime is to push to standing, with what can't even be described as a turtle-head hanging out of his bare arse. Giggling and panting he then takes messy steps into raisin fuelled excrement, printing shitty footprints all over the change matt and beyond. Like at nursery when the girls got the babies using paint to forever mark sugar paper with their comparitively tiny handprint; except with shit.
Anyway, I hope you weren't eating lunch when you read this. I also hope that some of you read this and recognise the stamp of shitty footprints in your own lives. That't not a metaphor for parenthood, I promise. I hope you too literally have shitty footprints in your household, just so we aren't the only ones. Let me know your thoughts on putting your foot in it in the comments below.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Everday Superhero.
"I used to be a superhero
no one could touch me
not even myself
you are like a phone booth
I somehow stumbled into
and now look at me
I am just like everybody else."
This metaphor for a life changing relationship is one we can all relate to and has taken on a whole new meaning since my return to work following maternity leave.
In one respect I used to be a superhero, able to put on a costume and get through anything with relative ease. Since having Ethan, I am more open, more exposed, more free. There is no time to hide behind a costume and no time for defences. I am a Mum and it is hard. Ethan is my phone booth in one respect as he has made me far more honest with my own emotions and more open in sharing my worries with others, regardless of whether this makes me appear weak or struggling. He has shattered my unnecessary defences.
Since returning to work it is as though I have accepted that at times I will struggle. At times relationships may be strained, I may be exhausted and work may be challenging. Thankfully I am lucky enough to work with and for people who accept this and understand the pressures I am facing first hand. I am surrounded day to day by people who understand that we are not robots; we are individuals. We each have individual needs just as we have individual skills and experience to bring to the school. I am not judged if I honestly say that Ethan has kept us up all night and I am exhausted. Instead people offer support and understanding, even if they can't fix the problem.
I can honestly say that the past half term back at work has been positively enlightening.
Back to superheroes though. While I feel like I have been stripped of one superhero costume I feel I may have exchanged it for another. Within a matter of minutes I go from Mummy to Teacher to professional woman to wife with no time to think. To say it is hectic is an understatement and to say it is demanding doesn't cut it. However, it is quite astounding really to think that I, well, women in fact, have the ability to switch between being at home in their comfort zone to out in the world of work in the tights and cape without a phone booth to get changed in.
Being a Mum is a job in itself, the hardest job of all. No training provided, no manual and no guarantee that your management techniques will work. When you add this to a job outside the home it is as though you are doing two separate jobs alongside each other. You finish one shift and head to the next. Sleep. Repeat.
Repeat may make it sound as though my life as it stands is banal or that I am unhappy. This couldn't be further than the truth. While it is challenging returning to work full time, I feel immensely proud that I am raising my own wonderful young man into the world while hopefully helping to raise even more young men and women. Being a teacher has changed for me since becoming a Mum. Before, I would listen to upset students and it was heartbreaking. Now, it breaks my heart because I can't help but see my own child in their position. When I have stacks of marking and am exhausted I think of Ethan as he grows and the importance of praise and feedback for him at school. What would I want for my Son? Surely all children deserve the same. Since my return, I have gained opportunities to use and expand my skills further at work. Over the next year things are changing and improving even further and I feel truly appreciated. The best part of it all is that I get to do this with a fabulous family behind me all the way. I can't really ask for much more.
The thing is, we all struggle sometimes but it is coming to terms with our imperfections and unreachable aspirations which is key. You know what? Sometimes I feed my family fish fingers for dinner rather than an all organic Anal-belle Karmel creation! Sometimes, the washing is stacked up and I febreeze my cardigan for work. Other days I go to work proud of my freshly washed dress and Ethan fucks it up with a carrot crisp. That's another thing: I feed Ethan treats on the bus to keep him amused. I also breastfeed him on the bus, however much it freaks people out. But guess what? Some Mums don't breastfeed and that's ok too! Another thing: some Mums do breastfeed their older babies when they have teeth! Some days I pick Ethan up later than planned because I am still working. Other days I am out the door as soon as possible because I just want to get home and be a Mummy. All of these things? They're ok. They might not be perfect but they are ok. There is nothing wrong with you, your child or your parenting. There is nothing wrong with your life so start loving its imperfections. They're what makes it yours.
Sunday, 23 December 2012
P!nk: Breastfeeding idol.
Watching her triumph of a video for her recent single 'Try' she is the same strong minded and talented woman she always was, despite being a wife and mother. What interests me more with this version of P!nk is that the woman you see is not only a mother, but a breastfeeding mother.
P!nk breastfeeding her 15 month old daughter Willow in September.
Flexible and toned in the video for 'Try.'
When I saw the photo of P!nk above published on Twitter by her husband and read her views on breastfeeding, my respect and appreciation of her as an artist and woman grew further. In an interview with Alan Carr she said a guy walked past her feeding Willow in a restaurant and made some comment that it was disgusting. P!nk's response: 'You obviously didn't get enough of this when you were young!' Brilliant! What a perfect response to an ignorant individual. I still find it shocking that anyone could consider reacting in this way. I breastfeed in public regularly and will continue to do so as long as Ethan is interested! At 5 months he shows no signs of giving it up any time soon and is welcome to continue as long as we can. I plan to return to work when Ethan is around 9 months old so we will have to adapt but we will work it out. The further along our breastfeeding journey we go, the happier I am that I was able to continue. We gain so much from our breastfeeding relationship, not just in terms of the health benefits, but our bonding experience. It is difficult to explain it fully, but while it puts the pressure on, I think there is also a part of me which likes that feeding Ethan is something only I provide. Don't think this is some kind of attack on bottle feeding Mums, it isn't. Every parent does what is best for their child and them, which deserves no judgement. Just as no person has the right to judge a breastfeeding mother in a restaurant, no one can judge those who bottlefeed.
Looking at P!nk as a mother and woman I see strength and beauty in body and mind. If she isn't a positive role model, I don't know who is. I feel as though P!nk has almost grown up alongside me, from a rebellious young woman to a wife and mother. Hopefully I still have a little rebellion still left in me yet!
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Keep Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'
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| Knackered from the rolling! |
The most challenging part of the whole thing was probably getting it attached to the door frame in the first place. It seems baby equipment really isn't built to be easy to make or set up at all. The pram/car seat/transformer is the worst, with its secret buttons and straps and parts it really is one of the biggest challenges of having a baby!
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| Woooooooooooooah! |
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| Happy in this awesome number! |
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| Modelling my new H&M outfit! |
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
A lesson in poo-cabulary!
Recently Ethan had a bad case of trapped wind which nothing seemed to fix. It just stayed inside. After two days of praying to the Poo Gods we finally had action and it was everywhere! Honestly, my prayers were well and truly answered with that bad boy!
When comparing poo notes with another Mum I was introduced to her term for these poo explosions of a poo-nami! Brilliant! Poo-nami has possibly become my favourite of the poo-cabulary! It is simple, clever and funny with all the makings of a perfect play on words which I hope will one day be included in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Sadly, these poo-cabulary additions to the English Language will just have to stay here in my own personal Dictionary. For now at least.
Poo-cabulary:
Poo-aholic
1: one who feels compulsively the need to talk about poo.
2: one who likes studying and talking about poo to the excess.
Poo Gods
1: the Being perfect in power, wisdom, and goodness who is worshipped as creator and ruler of the universe
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
3: a person or thing of supreme poo value.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
Poo-nami
1: a great wave produced especially by submarine poo movement or volcanic arse eruption.
Friday, 21 September 2012
Membership of the Mummy gang!
One of the most surprising things about pregnancy is the feeling of drifting away from your friends who don't have children, particularly those who are single or not living with partners. Throughout my pregnancy I somehow got it into my head that my close childless friends were excluding me from our social circle with no consideration for my feelings or current state. In fact our friendships were evolving. I was becoming a parent and that is at least a little scary for everyone involved!
Whereas before pregnancy me and my flatmate would think nothing of a cheeky vino to accompany a 'Glee' marathon, I was now necking pints of milk and popping packs of Rennie in a desperate attempt to cure my heartburn. Instead of sharing hangover days on the sofa together, I was feeling rough due to morning sickness. Rather than shopping for a little black number and heels for a night out I was simply searching for underwear and shoes which would actually stretch round my ever growing arse and feet. While I felt left out from the life I had previously led, I didn't once consider that my friends may have felt left out of my new life. I was changing before their eyes not only physically but emotionally and socially. I never considered that maybe this new version of me was a shock to my friends. Would they ever have things back the way they were or were we growing apart so far it was beyond repair?
As my flatmate is also one of my best friends I would like to add that we lived with her for the first 6 months of my pregnancy and I feel truly sorry for her! I cannot imagine living with a pregnant woman unless you are responsible for getting her in that state to begin with! It must have been frustrating, tiring and at times at least a little bit boring. However, for me at least, I feel incredibly blessed to have shared my pregnancy with her as the second she held our son and he heard her voice there was a clear connection unlike with other friends. Now I know that Ethan will build strong relationships with his surrogate Aunties and Uncles but with said friend it was as though he recognised her voice and had an awareness of who she is and that she is part of his world.
Close to the end of pregnancy we attended antenatal classes and I must admit I had never been too keen on the prospect of Mummy friends. To be honest, before the classes I was aprehensive as to how much I would have in common with these new potential friends beside the fact that we were all shagging at similar times. I couldn't have been more wrong. The second I arrived at the first class I realised I was desperate to meet new friends and a little bit nervous. Would they like me? Would they think my tattoos were weird? Would they see me as Mum material? As soon as I started chatting to the other women my nerves disappeared as soon as I found myself giggling discussing constipation and pile cream over a cup of tea. The thing was though, as I got to know these Mums more we began chatting about festivals, music, books, normality! Not surprisingly really these Mums were normal!
After the final class I went home so excited and feeling a bit of a geek at the prospect of new Mummy friends but then realised I have regressed back to school. What if they don't call? What if they meet up without me? What if they don't want to be friends? What if their baby doesn't want to be friends with my baby? Oh dear. When I received my first text from another Mummy, just as I was about to send one I was probably too excited. I had been accepted into an exclusive club of women, much to the amusement and piss taking of my husband. He spent some time quoting the 'friend, football friend' episode of 'The Inbetweeners' with 'friend, Mummy friend, antenatal friend.' He may have been taking the piss but he had a point.
Since having our babies the antenatal gang have been amazing! Supporting each other and laughing together, there is a real feeling of comradeship between the group which is a blessing, not only for me but for my non-baby friends. It means they are spared the cracked nipple and lack of sleep speeches and can just enjoy the bouncing and beautiful part of motherhood and regain a little bit of their friend back.
I underestimated the power of the Mummy gang until I became a part of one and would suggest all Mums to be get a membership to one sharpish! It stops you feeling totally mental and makes you feel more human, if only briefly. Never forget, Mummies are people too!
Thursday, 13 September 2012
From Birth to Breast.
The best word to describe the past 6 weeks is intense. Physically and emotionally intense. In some ways it doesn't feel that long since I was faced with the shock that I had just given birth to our 10lbs 13oz baby boy in our bedroom without pain relief! Now, I don't bring this up to boast but to this day it all feels a little surreal when people ask about the labour and I give this answer. The looks and comments I get are priceless and never fail to entertain me. Most of the time however, it feels as though Ethan has always been here and I have no idea what I did before he arrived. It is as though I have spent my whole life, in particular 9 and a half months waiting and preparing for something which you can never really prepare for fully.
I may have prepared my body, my mind and home to some extent but I certainly didn't prepare my breasts for what was to come. I was always determined to breastfeed, as my mother did; it seemed the natural choice. I read the books, undertook the training and assumed it would just happen. How naive I was. I figured that breastfeeding would only hurt if you did it 'wrong.' What I hadn't prepared myself for is how hungry babies are, how comforting my boobs are and how much strength of suck a newborn has!
For the first 3 weeks of breastfeeding at least I can only compare our son to a snappy turtle or one of those teethy animal heads on sticks kids get from museums or the zoo. It got to the point where the sight of the deadly jaws of my beautiful boy approaching my nipple filled me with genuine fear and bought many tears to my eye! Breastfeeding is an incredibly natural process, with practise and support. Thankfully after 6 weeks we have managed to settle into breastfeeding but it hasn't been without a lot of tears (on both sides of the breast), guilt and the odd bottle of aptamil. Some will judge those who bottle feed, whether it be the odd bottle or completely but my opinion on this is make your own choice, keep judgement to yourself and understand that the most valuable thing for a baby is a happy Mummy.
Until I gave birth myself I never imagined there would be such heated debate and in my opinion, ill treatment of women for their feeding choices of their own children. I have made my feeding choice for our son but it is just that; my choice. It is not the choice of the health visitor who tells me I am a 'failure' at breastfeeding (actual words) nor is it the choice of the multitude of leaflets which shout BREAST IS BEST over and over again. I may have managed to continue breastfeeding but I don't blame or judge any woman who has stopped breastfeeding at any point. It is hard work, really hard and for some it is impossible both physically and mentally to function and perform as a mother under the level or pressure and pain experienced. Think nipples bleeding while spending half an hour attempting to attach your crying baby to you only to then sit crying in pain for the next hour while they feed. Then imagine getting a 20 minute break before starting the whole process again. Over and over again. Top this with a generous dose of loneliness (as you are the only one able to feed your child at this point) and you have some idea of whether breast is always best.
As I say, I have continued with breastfeeding but this is my personal choice and you can quote me as saying that there have been points far more difficult than labour itself. Having continued with breastfeeding the next hurdle has been feeding in public. Now I am pretty sure that in the days when my weekends (and sometimes week nights) were spent necking cocktails and shots I flashed a boob or two but doing so when sober in daytime hours is a daunting prospect for most women. My first experience of public feeding really threw me straight into it. Sitting in a lovely cafe Utopia in Southend enjoying lunch with my Mum I rapidly realised Ethan was looking a little chompy. Instead of feeding him immediately I decided to start a conversation with him to ask whether he wanted to eat and begging for a clear signal. After a few minutes of this my Mum told me that I need to make a decision, rather than Ethan. Good point. The poor boy is not a lady that lunches, he is 4 weeks old and hungry. With my muslin cloth at the ready and fingers crossed I manage to get Ethan on to the breast without any nipple flashing and not one judgemental look from staff or customers. Lucky me. It has not been unheard of for women to breastfeed their babies in public toilets. As my health visitor said today would we eat lunch in a public toilet? After all my worrying Ethan fed for less than 5 minutes which tells me he either wanted to make the experience less traumatic for me or he got stage fright!
I could probably discuss breastfeeding and the judgement and guilt placed upon women for their feeding choice for the whole blog but will just end with these words. Hot Milk. Beautiful nursing bras; disturbing company name. There is nothing hot (in the sexy sense) about my massive milk machines.
Ethan and I at 5 weeks.
Friday, 3 August 2012
The Moth and The Chamber Pot.
I spent what I consider a considerable amount of time simply maneuvering myself out of the bath like something more reminiscent of a creature from some Japanese horror story of revenge and doom than the glowing earth mother I am in my mind. Having relaxed and feeling rather proud of managing to hoist myself from the bath I suddenly felt an onset of unusual pains. Embracing my inner big screen demon I wandered around a little, sat on the sofa, had a crack at bouncing on the exercise ball. Imagine if someone shagged one of the zombies from 'The Walking Dead' and got it pregnant then then left it to get on with it in an airy flat by the sea. Imagine a potential victim of Jeremy Kyle, who even he couldn't find the right synonym for 'scum' because, well, she's dead and trying to eat him. Now that would make daytime TV far more interesting but that's a whole other story.
Back to my toilet/moth story. Feeling tired after all that undead action I headed to my chamber pot only to find that even this would be a challenge to face. When will it stop? Still feeling unusual I reclined and realised nothing was happening down there, other than the original pain. I would apologise for too much information but if you didn't get a vibe for the subject matter from the heading I refuse to take responsibility for your lack of responsibility. Already uncomfortable, it was at this point I fell off the toilet seat, which appears to have broken somehow. Probably because of my massive arse or belly weighing it down. After 9 months it has just given up. Oh, the irony.
This pretty much covers the whole toilet fiasco, except for an uninvited guest. The moth. It may have been a tiny beast but it seemed determined to make my afternoon toilet adventure even more eventful. So, here I am at now over 9 months pregnant, in a bath towel, looking and acting like a zombie on the toilet. Falling off it, getting back on. Fighting a moth all the way through Read into that whatever metaphor you will. I am just wondering whether Beyonce was in the same boat as she prepared to head to the hospital floor she had rented with her millions.
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