So this was me.
TV, radio and online journalist.
Whacked upside the head with motherhood.
And now? Slowly accepting things will never be the same.
I’ve heard a brand new mum say the following three sentences, in quick succession, without the slightest hint of irony:
“I never knew a love like this existed.”
“I feel like I was born to be a mother.”
“I feel like I might burst with happiness.”
I started to look under her hospital bed for booze.
When she started to tell me how “wonderful” she felt after pushing a sizeable infant out of her vagina just 24-hours earlier, my teeth actually started to cut through my tongue. A giggle bubbled through the blood in my mouth. The kind of crazed giggle that comes when you’re not sure if you want to laugh, cry or throw punches.
I managed to smile and nod and then run out of her room, with my kicking and screaming toddler and my husband, looking slightly green after the graphic and completely uninvited retelling of her mucus plug coming away and the chafing of her nipples.
I’m telling you this story to highlight the difference between that sort of mum and me. She’s one of those blissful #blessed mothers that beat you over the head with their flawlessness and muffin recipes. Then there’s me. Not blissful, not #blessed. Just a normal person. A person plus a baby.
To be clear, I love my child. I love him with a ferocity that would scatter doves and make small deer scamper into the darker bits of the forest. Motherhood didn’t make me mellow and earthy. It made me wild and angry. Like a Mumma Terminator with a bionic eye scanning the crowds for anything or anyone who might hurt my baby.
But, apart from the occasional bouts of aggression, I’m still pretty much myself – with a whole lot more on my plate. It’s hectic, it’s hard and it’s often really, really fun. But I’ll NEVER pretend life is perfect, that motherhood is all my dreams come true, or that raising a small human is oh-so-naturale and instinctual. That’s bullshit and anyone who tells you differently is lying.
So what’s The Thud? It’s the thud of daily life. It’s coming back down to earth with a thud. Mostly, it’s my little boy, Thud. The thud of my heart.
This is me. Reporting from the frontline of parenthood. It’s a dangerous, volatile place. I have no idea what I’m doing, so I hope you didn’t come here expect parenting advice (but if you have any – particularly around getting your child to eat anything other than pasta, please let me know). This is simply a catalogue of what I’m learning and how I’m failing at motherhood. Feel free to laugh with me. Or at me…
My name is Lauren Dubois. I’m a former political journalist and mum to ‘Thud’ (no that’s not his real name. I’m not that much of a wanker). I’m married to Sarge (ex-Army, current favourite parent). I love a glass of bubbly and all four-letter words.
EDIT: December 2015
Wait! Hold up… Hello again. Well what do you know, I did it again.
Meet Pop. My little baby girl. She’s magnificent and she’s made life…. well, actually life’s a bit fucked right now, but I have high hopes for the future. A future that involves at least four hours sleep a night and five minutes during the day where I’m not being touched by somebody. Any day now… right?
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you’ll stick around. Even though I say fuck now and then. I’m working on it.
Lauren, Sarge, Thud and Pop
My work has been published at:
AND I have a podcast called The MotherHood
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