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.
One of the bonuses of parenting is being able to take credit for your child when they do something good.
“Oh yes, did you notice that? Isn’t he amazing?? I made him myself. Why thank you, yes I *am* an incredible mother.”
The trouble with Thud is… I think… maybe… I can’t take credit for him. Because he’s BETTER than me.
Let me tell you a story (and this is just one example of many).
Are you a good mum? What makes someone a good mum?
I was asked this question a few days ago and to be honest, all I could think about was what DOESN’T make a good mum. I have a whole list of things I know we DON’T need to do to prove ourselves… and then I saw this fucking ridiculous quote
and I knew I was right:
Do you remember what it was like to be a new mum? REALLY remember?
No really, stop and think. What was it like? And I’m not talking about the cuddles and the baby smell and the cute noises they make and patting nappy bums through terry towelling wondersuits which is officially the snuggliest feeling in the whole world and OMG all babies should be required to wear those things… 😍
The second our kids close their eyes, we forget every dipshit thing they did that day and our brains start flashing their highlight reel at us. Suddenly, they are adorable and funny, and the three cumulative minutes of cute they produced in the previous twelve hours are the only minutes we can remember.
It’s like their Instagram stories flash before our eyes – not the reality shitshow they actually put on.
Mum and dad’s daily shitshow? Oh, we remember every second of that. We get a fun replay in technicolour glory as we kiss our sleeping babes goodnight.
Every scowl, every cross word, every impatient huff… we dwell on every part and our heart aches for how awful we were to those perfect little sleeping darlings.