Enter Gobshite, hair swept back in an impressive bouffant, eyebrow perfectly arched and dressed head to toe in an immaculate ‘George at Asda’ ensemble. Trailing behind her is Tiny, he carries with him an impressive array of plastic crap and repeatedly mutters about ‘bananas’ which he has no intention of eating. The crowd looks up and succumbs to a collective eye roll “this mouthy bitch again?” Gobshite puts down her wine glass and begins to write…
I found it both enjoyable and cathartic revisiting my previous writing. I can identify such clear moments of anger, passion and enjoyment. Whilst there are moments of ‘tone’ I would change, I’m proud of the subject matters I covered and the fact I covered them without becoming insipid or losing my sense of self. My voice is one that is easily provoked, reactionary and frequently loses the point during transmission, why would I write any differently? I hope that I wrote things that challenged stereotypical ideas, made people laugh and left people thinking. I expect people formed opinions on my writing and whether it raised or lowered their opinion of me, individual thought is to be celebrated. And as I open the new chapter on my blog with a reflection on three of my previous posts, I am optimistic I can continue to do these things that make me, me!
My first ‘real’ post still fills me with pride: formula feeding without shame. I’m pleased that I put it out there and even more pleased to report, my healthy, happy and loving two-year-old is thriving. That said, I’m glad I don’t live in that world anymore. The one where your choice of baby based liquid nourishment bothers people but I occasionally catch glimpses of it: In the questions people ask on public parenting forums, the comments on social media adverts for breast milk substitutes, the looks thrown at (both breast and bottle) feeding mothers in public, the enquires of pregnant friends. What I have come to realise is that it is that it has nothing to do with the actual feeding choice. Most women don’t give a shit how other woman feed their baby, it’s just some of them are looking for a stick to beat others with. Bottle feeding? Biggest stick in the woods, easy to thrash around and give new mums a reet good poke with. Those women holding said stick? They move on, in line with their child, only to be replaced by other unsisterly copies in the forums where they shed their used husks. Why stick with feeding, when you can troll weaning choices? Pull apart those bitches who buy pouches and spoon feed their kids! Done with that? Go for it on the potty training, everyone needs informing of the correct way to encourage bowel movements, you’re really doing them a favour. Frankly, I’m excited to see what comes next!
Just you wait…: here’s where I’d like to admit I was wrong about something, as per my blog post April 2016.
TH: *rolls*
Twat: JYW until he’s crawling/walking and destroying your lovely lovely cream house and carpets
You’re all right with that one, he makes so much bloody mess. I swear parenting is 70% shouting ‘DON’T WIPE THAT THERE!’ Having given away the armchair, before he could destroy it, my sofa actually looks tie dye from the amount of bodily fluids and juice spilt on it. I’ve almost come to regard them as ‘memories to treasure’ especially the latest additions, having experienced our first ever sickness bug. Major shout out to my mum, who I scoffed at for questioning “are you sure you want it in that pale material, you might have a kid?” You were right mum, it was a stupid idea. Luckily, we’ve never had nice carpets, that said he’s done a sterling job of peeling back parts of the kitchen lino and tearing an outstanding hole in our bedroom wallpaper. The people over the road must be delighted with their nightly shadow puppet display of me, getting ready for bed, the nets having been destroyed during a vigorous game of hiding. Hell, some days, they’re treated to the budget version of C4’s ‘Naked Attraction’ as Tiny enthusiastically partakes in lifting the blind to wave at dogs, whilst I get changed. Lucky devils. Anyway, I’ve recently combated all this by employing a cleaner, which has improved the quality of my life immensely. At least the systematic destruction of everything functional or pretty won’t be covered in a layer of dust too.
Guilt, do we really need it? No. At the time of this post I questioned whether I would feel differently, once returning to work full time, I don’t, this meaning I don’t have to eat my metaphorical hat. I very much miss Tiny, a lot more than I thought I would, when I am working all day but I don’t feel guilty about it. Moreover, I still don’t feel guilty about time away from him, if anything I value it even more! That said, I feel like this is a much ‘bigger’ post than this reflective opening, especially as I’m now getting tired and fat fingered with the keyboard. I feel like this has potential to be my ‘wave around a glass of wine and bash out a rant’ post. I do hope you’ll come back and read it.
Thanks for having me, it’s thrilling to be back.
Gobshite and Tiny 