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Just saying…
26 Thursday May 2011
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Tag Archives: mother
Introducing: Some funny
12 Thursday May 2011
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This week’s Introducing is all about the funny. And I have some corkers for you.
Much as I hate to share the spotlight, these blogs are worth it. They’ve made me laugh. And that is a difficult task for a woman currently riddled with frowns.
So, bring forth your best Tena Lady and prepare to wet those pants…
Spotlight please:
She’s rude. She’s sarcastic. She’s a complete and utter attention-seeker. She’s on my wavelength.
And so, it seems, is her son – the utterly hilarious Mr Jamie.
This blog charts the strange adventures of a woman and her family, but in the most unique way I have ever come across. Cue: “big black nipples”, “(clearly cavernous) front bottoms” and discussions about Darth Vader killing Baby Jesus.
She’s not for the faint-hearted. And that’s why I love her.
An entirely new blog. And by new, I mean one-post-new.
This is the journey of a “small, funny, slutty” woman attempting to shrink from 10st 13lb to 9st 3lb. And did I mention she’s funny?
At the moment, I’m her only follower and I’m feeling a little lonely. Come and join me as we wait to see if she “falls face first into some pasta”. I’m sure she’ll make us laugh along the way.
Northern Mummy with Southern Children
You’ve probably already met this woman, because she is, like, super famous.
But if you haven’t, she’s worth a visit. Another funny and sarcastic gem (sensing a theme here), she blogs about all sorts of mundane life events, from the death of a goldfish to getting ready for a night out. But she does it with a certain panache that only she can do. Entertaining, readable and thoroughly relatable.
Plus, I’ve met her in “real life” and she’s really rather nice.
That’s it for this week. If you want to be featured next week, come along and introduce yourself: mothersalwaysright@gmail.com
Au revoir.
Hoover goddess
12 Thursday May 2011
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I have become my mother. No – scrap that, it’s even worse. I have become my Gran.
I have no idea how or when this happened, but it hit me today.
After waking in an inexplicably foul mood, I decided to vent my frustration and do “something productive”. I could have done any number of things to alleviate my grumpiness: Drunk wine, Googled Gary Barlow, watched Jeremy Kyle. So what did I choose?
Cleaning.
Yes, that famous mood-enhancing act of cleaning the bathroom. And as I scrubbed the bath and polished the shower screen, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Even getting down and dirty with the toilet brought a smile to my face.
And that’s when it dawned on me. I am my Gran.
Not that I’m saying my Gran (“Nana” to you and I) gets a sadistic kick out of cleaning toilets. It’s just that I always imagine her at her happiest while bustling about doing something domestic. But that’s not how I picture myself.
Since having Frog, many things have changed. I’m at home more now. I recently quit my job to begin freelancing, but I’m still officially on maternity leave. I’m in a no-man’s land of work and home, maternity leave and work. I still see myself as a “career woman”, but actually, at the moment, that isn’t really who I am.
So I suppose cleaning helped me feel like I was doing something productive. I may not have won a Sony Gold this week or written a feature in a national publication, but at least my toilet’s clean.
*Sigh*
And then I noticed my daughter watching me cleaning. She had a perplexed look on her face, as if to say “what the hell are you doing Mother?” (Clearly, the sight of me with a duster is a rarity).
I began to ponder her future, what she’ll decide to do when she’s all grown up, like me. Will she have a high-powered job? Will she be a mum? Will she become a domestic goddess?
And as I turned on the hoover I got my answer, a loud scream signalling Frog’s new Vacuum Phobia. The look of pure fear on her face said it all: Me? Domestic goddess? No chance!
That’s my girl.
The hinge
10 Tuesday May 2011
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It’s the squeaking hinge. The incessant, grind-your-nerves squeaking hinge.
It wakes me in the morning and continues – squeak squeak squeak – until breakfast. It returns just before lunch – squeak squeak squeak. And again, in the afternoon – squeak squeak squeak.
Constantly.
And it’s making me feel terrible.
I’m on about crying, if you haven’t figured out the analogy yet. Well, not crying as such – more of a whinge really. My usually happy (if somewhat melodramatic) baby has turned into a Grumpinator that would rival Victor Meldrew.
And I just don’t know why.
This time last week, she’d wake with a babbling gurgle and reward me with a wide, toothy grin as soon as she saw me. Now, she wakes squeaking and doesn’t stop for the next half an hour.
It gets worse whenever I have to do anything, like make her something to eat. The incompetent mother that I am, I can’t actually hold her on my hip while I chop vegetables. So she squeaks.
I know what you’re thinking – for God’s sake woman, get a grip! But it’s not that easy. You try being in close confines with a squeaking hinge for hours on end. It’s really rather irritating.
And that’s what’s making me feel bad. I shouldn’t be “irritated” by my ten month old baby. I should realise she’s having a hard couple of days. Whatever it is, I should be there to cuddle her. I shouldn’t huff “not this again” as I plonk her on the floor to get on with something.
Where has my patience gone? Where is her happy face? What am I doing wrong?
Answers on a postcard please. Or, you know, leave me a comment or something.
It’s the little things
08 Sunday May 2011
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The giggle when you’re tickled.
The thumb-in-mouth reflex when the magic blanket touches your face.
The conducting of an imaginary orchestra when you’re excited.
The puckering of your mouth when you’re in a mood.
The babbling of “mamamama” before sleep reaches you.
And yes, even the way you poo on the carpet. Even that I love.
These are the things I want to remember. Because I know that in a few weeks you’ll have changed again.
The Gallery: Mother Love
06 Wednesday Apr 2011
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Frog is two hours old and I can’t stop looking at her.
I can’t believe she came out of me. I can’t believe she is actually here.
From her bald head down to her wonky feet, she is the most perfect little thing I’ve ever seen. And she’s mine.
This week’s Gallery theme is Mother Love. Go to Sticky Fingers to see how other mums have interpreted the theme.
gi
15 Tuesday Mar 2011
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Dear Tooth,
There is fashionably late and there is just plain rude. You are falling into the latter category.
I know, as the Tooth of my daughter, you will probably have diva tendencies. And I realise you want to keep the crowd waiting, to build a sense of anticipation and excitement.
But would you just hurry up?
I’m sick of the tears and the biting and the just-general-miserableness. I’m sick of waking every morning to see if you have arrived, only to be disappointed again. And most of all, my nipples are sick of the constant threat of extinction posed by a teething, angry baby. I like my nipples and require both of them.
I feel deeply let down that I have had to resort to writing this letter. But make no bones about it, if you continue in this selfish manner you will pay the consequences. Forget any ideas about a retirement at Tooth Fairy Castle. You will be consigned to a little box at the back of my knicker drawer, never to be seen again, along with the leopard print thong and suspenders.
I trust you will now show yourself and stop being such a nuisance.
Yours sincerely,
Mother’s Always Right
The Big Weigh-in
01 Tuesday Mar 2011
Posted in Breastfeeding, Motherhood
Tags
When you have a baby, it’s easy to get obsessed with numbers. How many hours is she sleeping? How much milk is she drinking? And the big one…How much does she weigh?
Numbers, numbers, numbers.
Call me thick, but I’ve always hated Maths. The sight of a graph fills me with dread. Pie charts bring me out in a cold sweat. And I would rather sit in a bath with a tarantula than work out a conversion from kilograms to pounds.
So, imagine my horror, when I found out that having a baby involves pretty much all of the above (except for sitting in a bath with a tarantula. Obviously).
When people meet your new baby, one of the first things they’ll ask is “how much does she weigh?”. This is the only time in your baby’s life that they will be introduced with their name and weight in the same sentence. At any other time this would be considered strange. I mean, can you imagine introducing a friend to a friend with, “This is so-and-so and she weighs 9 stone”? No, didn’t think so.
So why do we do this with babies? In the early days, I have to admit, Competitive Mum was making an appearance. I was as guilty as anyone of posting my baby’s new weight as a status update on Facebook, as if anyone actually cared. It’s pretty ironic that we spend the first few months of a baby’s life worrying that they’re putting on enough weight, when they’ll probably spend a lot of their adult life trying to lose it. (No? Just me then).
Frog had a weigh-in today (no, she hasn’t taken up Boxing. It was a check up with the Health Visitor). She’s dropped a bit on the chart thingy. Don’t ask me how much she weighs because as soon as the Health Visitor told me it went straight out of my head. I’m no good with numbers, remember? The Health Visitor told me to try giving her some more solids. As if. She already packs away three full meals a day, about a gallon of milk and grazes on snacks in between. She actually spends most of her day eating. She hasn’t got time to eat any more!
I spent the rest of the day worrying about how to “fill her up”. How can I cram in more food? How can I make her fat?
Until I realised it’s a load of old bull. When she’s hungry she cries, so I feed her. When she’s full she stops eating. Since when did we assume babies don’t know how much they need anyway? She’s still putting on weight. She’s reaching all the developmental milestones she “should” be meeting. What’s the problem? She isn’t making a nice neat line on the growth chart? Maybe she just hates Maths as much as I do.
I just hope she continues to defy the Maths and ignore the numbers, unlike her own mother. If, like me, you ever worry about your own weight from time to time, look where to buy acai berries for weight loss.
Forum Friends
26 Saturday Feb 2011
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When I was pregnant I thought I knew it all. I’d changed nappies before. I’d bathed babies. I’d held newborns. Caring for my own baby? Pah. Easy.
And then she was born.
As a pregnant woman, I swore I would be an Earth Mother type. I was going to follow my instincts and not read a single book. But then Frog turned four weeks old and suddenly woke up. Gone was my sleeping, content baby. In her place was a little ball of trapped wind. With a fierce temper.
And so I turned to the internet. Babycentre and Netmums became my new best friends. I spent my evenings “researching” my baby. I read countless baby forums and got completely obsessed with finding out how other mothers were doing things. I was a convert to the Gina Ford way one week, the Baby Whisperer the next. It is fair to say, I was a very disloyal baby guru worshipper.
The result? I was a nervous wreck, and so was my baby. One minute I was rocking her to sleep, the next I was leaving her to cry, afraid I would be setting up “bad habits”. Then I would break and would be back with her, rocking rocking rocking. As soon as she was asleep, I’d be back online, trying to find out what I was doing wrong. And there were countless answers and other willing mums ready to tell me.
But here’s the thing: every single answer was different. Where one mum advised breastfeeding to sleep, another said leave her to cry. Where one expert advised scheduling feeds, another advocated the benefits of feeding on demand. And I realised, no one had the answer for my baby. Because no one had my baby.
So I threw the books in the bin.
And I learned to trust my instincts again. As soon as I started to relax and do things my own way, Frog became noticeably happier. And anyway, I now know what was wrong with her all along. She was suffering from a problem no expert or forum mum spotted. She wasn’t overtired. She hadn’t developed a “bad sleep association”. She didn’t need “sleep training”. No. She just needed a really good fart.
Trumpy Frog
Soundtrack of my life
23 Wednesday Feb 2011
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The heroine herself
If you’ve seen last week’s Listography post, you’ll realise I have rubbish taste in films. And here’s the thing: my taste in music is no better.
I have tried and failed to like “cool” music. I went through the gig phase at university. I rather got into The Libertines at one stage. I even copied my (much cooler) best friend’s Doves CD. But, if I’m totally honest, I’m not really that bothered by it all.
So that’s why I’ve decided to be totally honest when replying to Ipswich Mummy’s (Him, Me and Three) Soundtrack of My Life post. I am a mum now, so I can embrace my totally crap taste in music. Isn’t that what parents are for – to humiliate and embarrass their offspring? Well, that’s what my mum always told me anyway….
- Bonnie Tyler – Total Eclipse of the HeartThis memory goes far back. It’s behind singing in the bath to Kylie’s I Should Be So Lucky (aged 3) but before crying at my love for Take That when they were on Going Live (aged 10).
I am sitting in the back of my uncle’s car, by a rainy beach in North Wales. My cool older cousin has allowed me to stay in the car with her and her best friend while we listen to Bonnie Tyler. We have a new favourite song: Total Eclipse of the Heart. Or rather, they have a new favourite song. I just like it because my cousin likes it and anything she likes, I do too. We are learning the words to this amazing new song. Every time Bonnie warbles out a line, we have to pause the cassette in the tape deck and write it down, before repeating it. By the end of that holiday in North Wales I knew all the words and had my own copy of Bonnie Tyler’s album on cassette. I still know all the words and am happy to sing them for you, providing you give me a cheap Karaoke mic and a couple of Sambucca’s.
- Take That – PrayPossibly my favourite Take That song, like, ever. TT (as us fans like to refer to them) were the first band I saw live. Aged 9, I spent an entire week deciding what to wear and made my mum take me to Tammy Girl to get a new pair of jeans for the occasion. I went with my aunty and her husband. It was the Everything Changes Tour. Mark sang Babe in a big woolly jumper. The boys did the most amazing dance to Pray. I was allowed to stand on a chair and copy the older girls screaming (at the time, I’m not sure I was fully aware why they were screaming, but I’ve always liked noise and I didn’t want to be outdone). Brilliant.
- Eiffel 65 – Blue.I KNOW! But I said I was going to be honest…this was a summer holiday anthem when I was about 15. We went camping to France and I was among a gang of teenagers roaming the campsite being generally annoying. We thought we were so cool, making up a “big fish, little fish, cardboard box” style routine to this song. I taught the dance to my friends when I got home. We still know it now and have cleared dance-floors with it in the past. I can teach it to you too, if you like.
- DJ Sammy – Heaven.Again, I KNOW! Truly truly awful song. But I love it! Because it reminds me of my first year at university. I have met my future best friend and dance-floor partner. We are bonding over shots of Tequila and cheap wine. We are rocking the early Girls Aloud tassly belt and pointy boots combo. This is before GHDs so the hair is big. This song comes on and that’s it: mad scramble to the dance-floor and God help anyone who gets in our way. I’m not sure she’d admit to it now, but my (much cooler) best friend loved this song just as much as I did. Either that or she was humouring me.
- Kent – 747.Yep, I hadn’t heard of them either. This was the song the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine tried to woo me with. It must have worked, because two and a half years later we have a seven month old baby. And the cycle of humiliation and bad taste in music continues…
If you join in please post a link in the comments box below. For those that are tagged, I won’t be offended if you choose not to take part.
I tag: