Thud wanted to write down some family rules today. We all took it very seriously. All of us. Dead serious.
My mum was talking about a little girl we know, saying her parents must be wonderful because she’s so sweet.
“The proof is in the second child, mum”, I said. “The first can be a total fluke.”
You can’t tell someone’s parental skills based on their first child. Maybe they just happened to get one of those good ones. That happens, you know.
This works both ways btw: if you have one child and that child is a total arsehole, don’t be discouraged! It might not be your fault at all! That child could just be a legit arsehole. They happen just as often as the good ones.
The only way to really tell if it’s your fault – is to have a second child.
Yes my friends, that IS a big gamble to take.
“You’re such a good mum” you told me. Dozens of you. Hundreds maybe.
I read these words over and over after sharing my story about Thud’s sleep issues on social media. I told everyone how I’d discovered his sleep issues stemmed from separation anxiety and I’d started to leave little sketches under his pillow to assure him I was checking on him throughout the night.
You couldn’t have been more impressed with me and I’m not going to lie, it felt frigging excellent. I started to believe you. I felt like maybe I’d finally succeeded at something and began researching Mum of the Year awards I could enter myself into.
7.37am: Why is it so dark in this room? Why are these blinds all shut? Well fuck, it’s probably to hide how shitfaced this room is. Why do we have so many fucking toys? One day I’m going to raid this room when they’re asleep and throw out everything except for a solitary wooden toy per child because that’s educational or something. I should look that up. Shit, it’s Lilly’s party this weekend, I need to buy her present. Do we have wrapping paper? I should do gift tags like Nicola does on her gifts, she’s so damn clever. I’ll look for tags at Kmart today.
Things they don’t tell you about parenthood no. 362: the athleticism required.
If you’re the kind of person who really likes to kick back and not move, you might find parenthood a bit of a shock. Because you can’t half arse this shit. It’s Aerobics Mum Style from day one. Here’s the timetable:
FLEXIBILITY. Exhibit A. My children now share a room and they cannot fall asleep without me touching them. I don’t have to rock or pat anymore but I must be touching. Their beds are on opposite sides of the room. So that’s fun. You’ll also get a workout in the car, trying to reach dropped water bottles from the driver’s seat. Also the many hours you have to sit on the floor to play stupid trains.
I come up with inventions every day. I’m going to tell you a few and you can let me know which one you think is a winner. But don’t steal my ideas ok? Because one of them is going to make me a millionaire.
Disposable clothes. Every day, as I fold the 18th basket of clothes, I decide we are either going to become nudists or we need to wear disposable clothes because there couldn’t be a family on earth that wears this many socks. Obviously, there’s an environmental impact so they’d need to be biodegradable. That could cause durability issues so we’d never be able to walk outside in the rain or move too much. Small price to pay.
This is not one of those ‘love your body’ posts.
I’d never do that because nobody cares about my body issues. It’s annoying when people my size preach about ‘accepting’ their ‘horrible’ bodies.
BUT this is a post about society’s obsession with SIZE and the assumptions we make about people based on the number at the back of their clothes.
We see someone with curves and assume they’re lazy and weak.
We see someone like me and assume they eat well and exercise.
People aim to be thin – at all costs.
Hi, I’m Lauren, I wear a size 8 and I am NOT healthy.
Bookmark this page for all the times you look at the clock and think FML it’s only 2.30 and I will cry if I have to play trains for one more minute.