Feminism · Growing Pains · Motherhood

Bringin’ the Realz

Today, I had two bags of ready salted crisps for dinner because I couldn’t be bothered to cook.

And I would have needed to wash up my favourite cooking utensils to cook, and FUCK THAT.

Babies and toddlers are supercool because they don’t pretend to like stuff they don’t, they don’t repress a microscopic speck of adoration when they do and when they’re sad or mad they let it all fiercely out and then get on with their day.

When I washed my hair, I multitasked by scrubbing the rings out of the bath with a scourer and some shampoo. I HOMEMADE TODAY. 

I went to my mum’s today and briefly had an upset stomach and momentarily panicked thinking I might be ill and the baby is downstairs and will die without me right there. NO, PNA, YOU DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE. PISS OFF.

Biggest is trying out her new double bed in her own room tonight and this morning I felt relieved, thinking, I’m looking forward to having more room in the bed, and this evening I felt desperately sad that she wouldn’t be there.

I think newborn poo smells like steamed carrots.

I have never understood, or much adhered to, heirarchy practices in workplaces. And that’s got me into hot water on more than one occasion. But fuckem.

No one makes mash like my mum.

Can’t decide whether to cut my hair short, because effort, or keep it long, because lion’s mane. 

And, yes, I really mean cut it myself. Like, with my own scissors and hands. I’ve done it plenty before, it’s fine, you can’t really tell in Wildling hair.

My bed has no sheet on the mattress because it’s not dry yet but I don’t care.

People look at me really strangely when I’m walking down the road with Littlest in the sling. 

Biggest has a sore tummy because I allowed her to eat five less-than-ripe bananas in the last two days.

I have been called a left-wing extremist for wanting the UK to take in orphaned refugee children.

I’m really pissed off that, despite tandem feeding, I’ve had clockwork periods since Littlest birth, when I only had two in total in the 20 months between Biggest’s birth and Littlest’s conception.

I don’t like how my boobs look right now. I’m not sure I ever will again.

I’m kind of upset that Biggest’s favourite Paw Patrol character is Skye. At least she chose it herself, I guess.

I get really angry when I have cold feet.

I can’t remember when I last mopped the bathroom.

I really want to grow my own flowers, fruit and vegetables but am scared of unexpectedly encountering spiders and Biggest seeing my reaction and learning to fear them. 

Sometimes when I ask Danny to take Littlest and get her TO SLEEP while I deal with Biggest and he’ll put like 60% effort into trying for 10 mins before he gives up and starts playing with her instead and it winds me right up. 

I don’t like the taste of red wine and don’t understand how people do. Is it like smoking, you try it for the first time and think, this tastes like actual asshole but everyone else is doing it so I’ll soldier on, and one day you suddenly quite like it?

I get sad when I pass massive stumps of trees which must have been hundreds of years old, wondering what history they were a part of, only to be cut down in the 21st century by Pam and Dave, because it was blocking the light into their conservatory and they were sick of clearing leaves off their lawn every autumn. 

I don’t like being told it’s not feminist to aspire to being a mother who is the main caregiver. No, what’s not feminist is you telling me that’s not feminist. I thought feminism was about freedom of choice, not exchanging one set of rules for another. Fuck that. 

You’re oversharing.

If oversharing means not just sharing the sugary-sweet, then fine, I’m oversharing. 


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