“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.
That night, as I lay down with Thud and whispered sweet words to him about how safe and loved he was, he turned and whispered, “I want daddy“.
I told that ungrateful son of a bitch/me that daddy was unavailable #untrue
He leapt out of bed and headed for the door.
I stood up, and with the reflexes of a jungle cat and the legs of a giraffe, kickboxed that door shut over his head.
He tried for the door again and I told him he had two choices: go to bed and get some sleep, or he could touch that bloody door and not go to his friend’s party the next day #seemedfairatthetime
He turned and roared in my face like a lion that’d just been kicked in the coit.
I pushed him out the door myself and bid him good day.
The next day, with the backbone of a jellyfish, I drove him to that party like we both knew I would.
I’m not saying I’m not a good mum, I reckon I am, but I just did what any mum would do.
Our kids struggle and we move heaven and earth to help them. It’s just what we do.
And then we tell everyone on social media and bask in the glory and “forget” to mention the yelling, the screaming, the bribes, the excessive screen time and sugar, the tears and feral moments we don’t want anyone else to see.
I have them all the time. I just don’t tend to film them because I’m too busy frothing at the mouth at my children.
#goodmum #badmum #itsallPRspin #somanyanimalanalogies
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