Honesty: Panic and Me.

On Sunday night/early Monday morning I had a panic attack.
There I said it, in fact, let’s be totally honest: I had several over the course of 2-3 hours. Mine take the guise of becoming frozen still but thinking that I’m screaming out loud. My heart beats fast and any noise around me becomes intense but blurred. The ‘panic’ rises from my chest and into my shoulders, before metaphorically exiting out of my mouth, at which point I can move again. If there is any light, Mr Gobshite can see it’s happening by my face, if there is nothing but darkness, he’s clueless. Following the attacks are prolonged periods of ‘glumness’ where I struggle to have any sort of enthusiasm or will power. There is an ache, in my shoulders, that when it lifts, I know it’s over.
My first thought, upon realising I was in no fit state to go to work was this: what shall I tell them? Shall I lie and say I’m being sick? As a person who strongly advocates talking about mental health issues, I was shocked at myself. Why was I so ashamed? Having made the decision to be honest, I have spent the past two days (I’ll return to work tomorrow) spending time reflecting on those initial thoughts and why I thought about lying. When that ache in my shoulders lifted, today around midday, I decided to write about my experience.
I’ve had panic attacks in the past, a long time ago. Whilst I was employed in a low paid and stressful banking job. During the death throws of a toxic relationship. After returning to work following maternity, to a role I no longer felt a connection to. The attacks always came in the evening, when I was relaxed and ‘switched off’ from the situation. In all cases I’ve been medicated, some sort of anti-adrenaline drug, I can’t remember what it is called. The essential point of it being, when I was calm my body and brain struggle to let go of any challenges that might have been bothering me, thus the surges/rushes, which lead to the attacks. Brilliant, you think, she knows how to deal with it all. But this time my problem is this: I have no problems.
My work/life balance is superb, I work in a forward thinking educational establishment, that values its employees and their commitments beyond the day to day job. I am surrounded by fantastic family and friends, who I enjoy the company of immensely. My social life has never been better. Money is good. My marriage is strong, my husband handsome and fantastic at keeping our love alive. Tiny is a dreamboat, I am THAT woman with the kid that sleeps every night and is generally pleasant in the daylight hours. I’ve lost a great deal of weight and feeling body confident and pretty. I’ve tried to identify a crisis point in my life, in the hope of pinning this on something, there is none.
And this is what I feel most ashamed of: How can I have a panic attack if I don’t have a problem? How can I turn to my peers, family and work colleagues and explain the issues I have? They simply do not exist. I am essentially sound of mental health and surrounded with positivity and I worry that I will be judged for that. I still am, as cathartic as writing about it is, that worry is still there. I have no answer or solution as to how to make it go away. I also realised that I am writing in the hope that other people may feel the same, or have experienced similar situations. That someone can turn around and tell me ‘you know what, my life is cracking but sometimes I freak out too!”
I’m also choosing not to take medication this time, I’m hoping that since the situations surrounding my attacks are different, that the ways of coping can be too. A good friend has already taught me the 5,4,3,2,1 grounding method, which helped immeasurably as 5am this morning when I was on the verge.

Click to access 5-4-3-2-1-Relaxation-technique-1.pdf

I’m also choosing to talk/write about it, rather than hiding it. In life, as evidenced in my blog, I love talking and don’t really have an inner monologue, why would I choose to stay silent now? I spend a great deal of time encouraging young people to be open and expressive, I preach the mantra of sharing feelings and emotions is good for us, so I need to put that into action myself.
There is a meme/quote I see a lot on social media ‘You never know what someone is going through. Be Kind. Always.” I’ve come to realise over the last two days, there’s not always something to go through, maybe ‘be kind, always’ is enough?
Thanks for listening, I promise I’ll write something sarcastic/biting/funny for the next post.
xxx

Actual real advice (travel)

In a break from the norm, this entry is actually advice based. Like real life ‘here are some helpful things’ for you to consider in life. So, apologies to those of you here seeking an expletive filled rant, I’ll try and drop in a cheeky f bomb or two.
Mr Gobshite and I have always been avid fans of travelling both near and far. One of the first things I said, when he propositioned me was ‘look I’m really not very exciting, I like smug weekends away and going to bed early!’ When Tiny came along, we couldn’t wait to introduce him to our love of the world, so much so that in the first two years of his life he’s travelled to no less than four foreign countries, the south coast (we have family in Bournemouth) several times and uncountable other UK cities for weekends away. I’m frequently asked for hints and tips as to how we manage, especially as we don’t drive, so thought it about time I popped it down in one manageable space.

Deciding where to go:
One of the most important things about a holiday, is that it needs to be that: a holiday! We now put much more thought and research into our destinations, we want to enjoy the days with Albert and the nights to ourselves. There are many questions you can ask yourself to figure it out. Things we look for and want to know are:
• Is there a range of family friendly but interesting restaurants and bars that are open in the day? (So, we know we can eat out as a family without the risk of a bedtime tantrum!)
• How many public parks are there?
• What attractions can we visit, that are suitable for us all?
• What’s the public transport like?
• How far is the airport/train station from our location?
• Is it near somewhere that at night where we can get tasty food and drink for ourselves to cook/have in the apartment?

Most importantly though: Do YOU actually want to go? There are plenty of places that are aimed squarely at families and small children, that doesn’t mean you’re going to enjoy it. Don’t waste your money on something you’ll resent.

The basic ‘must have and do’ list
One of the first things we learnt about travelling with a small is: take as little as humanly possible, especially if you don’t drive! There is so much false fear around travelling with babies/toddlers about how much you need, when it’s not that bad.
• Absolutely first: Call/email your accommodation and check what they already have/can get their hands on. They might not have anything but enquiring politely can go a long way and cut down your packing list straight away. Several places we have stayed, despite not advertising them, have provided when asked: cots, highchairs, sippy cups, baby bedding, free milk, toddler toilet seat and sterilising facilities.
• One big case/bag is better than lots of small ones. The more you can cram into one bag the better. We now travel with an absolute limit of: one suitcase and a rucksack each, that is it. If it can’t fit in those, we don’t take it.
• With a bottle-fed baby: Milton cold water tablets or a mam self-sterilising bottle. No need to lump a big steriliser around, the tablets can just go in the sink. I also never had a problem storing the big ready-made cartons of baby milk in a hotel’s fridge.
• If there is WIFI/unlimited data: a two-way video call (using WhatsApp, Skype or Messenger) serves as a great space saving video monitor. Just remember to mute the adult end, so you don’t wake the kiddo. Be warned though: this also means you have to converse with your partner, as the phone will be in use.
• Little life arc travel cot and black out shade. It’s a game changer in the travel cot world! It’s so light and small it fits in a rucksack, under the buggy or flat packs into a suitcase, including the mattress.
• JoJo Maman Bebe, pack-away pocket high chair. Basically, an aide to tie them to a chair, weighs nothing and can be rammed in the bottom of a rucksack.
• Very few toys, trust me, resist the urge! We take a few pocket-sized items, all Tiny wants to do in unfamiliar places is play with the implements and ornaments provided.
• Scope out where your nearest convenience store is and question: Do I really need to pack nappies and wipes? Can you suck up being charged ‘tourist’ prices (if it’s that sort of place) in order to have less to carry?
• If you’re on an extended holiday: find out what the laundry situation is. Most big hotels will offer a service by which you can fill a bag for around £20 and have it washed and dried.

Accommodation
I won’t lie: we like luxury. I’m not a roughing it type. I also live and breathe for finding an outstanding deal, I’m really REALLY good at it…anyway I digress and that’s a whole other blog post!
Space is important! I know some parents are happy to share a room with their child, I’m not that parent. When he’s in bed, I can’t imagine anything worse than having to sit in semi darkness, whispering. That’s when you crack open the wine, converse and reconnect with your partner, not play bedroom charades whilst fearing breathing too loud. Apartments/houses and duplex hotel rooms are ideal for this. Air b&b is a wonderful place to look for them. Whilst I tend to set the filter to ‘whole place’ it’s worth nothing some of the ones where you are renting just a room, may have a communal guest area. On booking.com the filters allow you to narrow down the accommodation types.
Whilst about online booking: always check their child policy. I always search without putting Tiny’s details in and then call/email direct to check what they charge. Some allow children as old as twelve to stay for free/reduced rate, but the automated systems won’t show this.
The following is a list of places/hosts we have stayed that we have enjoyed/recommend.
• We’ve used Diamond Serviced Apartments several times. Generally great kid friendly spaces, laundry facilites at all sites. Always call them, they usually offer a good discount/better apartment if you query the price!
http://diamondservicedapartments.co.uk/

• Hotel Van Cleef. Bruges. Absolutely stunning five-star hotel, on the canal side, offering duplex apartments and an outstanding, affordable babysitting service. We were introduced to our dedicated English-speaking sitter over breakfast on our first morning and immediately felt at ease. Cots available but they charge high for them, take your own!
http://www.hotelvancleef.be/en/

• Carlos has a few apartments in the fabulous Porto, we have stayed in Paraiso. Phenomenal value and he provided pretty much every baby/toddler basic we needed.
https://www.airbnb.co.uk/users/12252817/listings

• Monumental apartment, Funchal is gorgeous. The one bedroom apartment is perfect for spending time together when the baby has gone to bed. The views are unrivalled and the fully equipped kitchen, including a washing machine, makes it family friendly.
• https://www.booking.com/hotel/pt/monumental-apartment-funchal1.en-gb.html?label=gen173nr-1FCAEoggJCAlhYSDNYBGhQiAEBmAEuwgEKd2luZG93cyAxMMgBFNgBAegBAfgBC5ICAXmoAgM;sid=b390648ded9af5e862e048b932d9ba54#availability

• The Resolution, Whitby. Whilst this is just a hotel room, we stayed in one of the vault rooms, on the lower ground floor, that had a big corner area, perfect for putting the cot in. Good for a short stay.
https://resolution-whitby.com/

• Mike and Trish no longer rent the home we stayed in, they have a new property in Bournemouth. Fabulous and welcoming hosts.
https://www.airbnb.co.uk/users/show/23305586

• Marmadukes, hotel in York has a stunning suite and family flat. We’ve stayed here before when booking very last minute and getting an unbelievably low price. Make a night of the sauna in the bathroom after a day wandering round the city.
https://www.marmadukestownhousehotelyork.com/

• This year we took our first ‘family resort ‘holiday. I’ll admit we were sceptical and total snobs about it: was it just going to be full of Brits abroad singing Agadoo and swilling warm carling? Macarella Spa and Suites was great and thankfully was nothing like our concerns. Low key family entertainment, a great/separate toddler pool, shop next door with all the basics (nappies, wipes, Ella’s kitchen baby food, formula etc.) In hindsight we think it was a little expensive but recommend based on atmosphere and location.
https://www.tui.co.uk/destinations/europe/spain/menorca/calan-bosch/apartments/grupotel-macarella-suites-and-spa.html

Trains and planes.

From my experience I’ve discovered the travelling part is the one most parents worry about, especially regarding what other people may think if your kid throws a wobbler. Here’s the fact: Your kid might cry on a train or plane, if other supposedly decent human beings can’t handle that, maybe they should consider private facilities. I do two things when Tiny has transport based meltdown: clearly do my best to shut it down and apologise to anyone it is disturbing. A kid crying is annoying but a parent doing nothing about it, is even more so! Let’s face it, the apology is for show…I’m not sorry but people like it. They are also likely to be more understanding and helpful with the situation. On all four-foreign holiday’s, Tiny has cried at some point during the flight, each time I’ve acknowledged it the surrounding passengers have responded with their own child based horror stories, tried to distract him, offered to hold him, offered me a sip of their wine (best one) or simply said ‘don’t worry about it.’ Just remember, most people have been there themselves and totally get it. When we travelled without Tiny, for a boozy weekend in Dublin, a kid screamed the whole flight. Real talk: I was delirious with happiness that it wasn’t me!

I must also note at this point, Mr Gobshite and I regularly use a sling, which I know isn’t for everybody. We find it so much easier than a buggy, to the extent that we didn’t take one on our trip to Porto in October. Tiny naps in it more and enjoys going in it more. It’s also one less thing to bloody carry. Now he’s bigger we pop him on our back, like a rucksack…except it’s human and likely to wipe cream cheese in your hair…surprisingly light feeling and easy to carry. I would recommend giving one a go, if you’ve not considered it already.

Before you travel:
• Plane: book seats at the very back, turbulence has the least effect here, it’s right next to the toilet and hostesses hang round here, if you need them.
• Train: look for deals in first class. You often don’t pay more than another £10 but get tonnes more room, free snacks and WIFI. Also worth noting, on a standard ticket, you can upgrade on the train, at the weekend for a relatively low price.

Before you get on the plane/train:
• Let them run off as much energy as humanly possible! The more knackered they are, they more likely they are to sit in their seat. Most airports will have a play area of some kind. Failing that head far away from the crowds to an empty gate.
• Train. Find out, if possible, from a platform attendant either where your carriage will be or, if you’ve not pre-booked, where the unallocated one will be. Saves running up and down the platform like a dickhead chicken when it pulls in.
• Plane. Get on last, like literally the very last. There is no joy in being invited on first, only to sit for 45 minutes while everyone else boards. Whoever decided young families should have boarding privileges was clearly a sadist. I can guarantee you: within seconds of sitting down, the hostess will insist you put the child belt on, at which point they will turn into a demented otter, with a unyielding vendetta against the fold down table in front. We’ve got on first once, once and never again.
• Plane. *Controversial* Calpol, half an hour before scheduled take off. I know not everyone will approve of me saying it, but it works for us. Without fail, Tiny is chilled out and sleeps for at least an hour of the journey. Whilst I’m not into recreational drugging of my child, this one I stand by.

On the plane/train:
• iPad parent the shit out of life. There can never be enough Mr Tumble to watch.
• Same goes for snacks, make the whole journey a never ending buffet.
• Let them walk around if they want. Trains and planes are perfect for it, it’s one aisle straight up and down, they can’t get lost or run off.
• Take some new ‘pocket’ toys. Something they can open and explore from the comfort of a seat.
• Plane. Lollypops for landing: really help with ear popping!

When you’re there:
Don’t expect everything to be perfect just because it’s a holiday. Your kid might still act like a douche for no reason, especially if it’s hot. In Menorca, Mr Gobshite and I put a lot of pressure on ourselves to enjoy a meal out on our anniversary. We should have just left it, not wasted the money and eaten pizza at the hotel. Instead we spaffed £50 up the wall on a meal neither of us enjoyed because Tiny decided to scream at the walls the entire time. Not everything has to be #makingmemories.

Don’t worry if your kid won’t eat in the day and will only eat chips once the sun has gone down, again especially if it’s hot. It’s what Tiny usually does and he’s still alive.

Do live by the best napping rule ever: drink when they sleep. Whether it’s a 10am gin by a pool or an afternoon beer in a bar. The aim of the game is to fit one in while you’ve got some adult time!

Do give your co-parent chance for some free time. Take an hour alone and enjoy the silence.

Do go out late, especially in Europe! Kids are welcome in most places and the vibe is welcoming.

When you get back:
BOOK THE NEXT BLOODY ONE!

 

Happy travels
Gobshite
xxx

I’m back!

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.

HOPE AND FEAR

It’s been a while gobshitters, it’s been a while. Largely because adjusting to our new family way of living has been a massive bloody shock. Who’d have thunk working full time and raising a child would be such hard graft? I’m lucky: Mr Gobshite stays at home with Tiny, whilst moonlighting as a part time beer monger. However I’m still knackered and drinking wine while staring slack jawed at shit TV has been preferable to writing. 

Standard excuse made, it’s not the only reason I’ve struggled to write. I feel like the world I birthed Tiny into, nine long months ago, is a totally different place to the one I hoped for him. A place that, frankly speaking, has made me feel rather less funny. Despite the frequently biting tone of my blog, I’m a very optimistic soul, I don’t see the point in dwelling, brewing and holding grudges. That said: I’d never seen a live stream of a human being die next to his partner and daughter on the 6pm news before. I’d never witnessed my country divided over political choices, accompanied by a constant vomiting of racist attitude. I’d never watched an airport I’ve stood in (and booked to go to again) be blown to pieces. I’ve never seen dead children washed up on a tourist beach, while bloated bigots moan about the refugee crisis ruining their holiday. I’d never taken seriously that a man so repulsive I can’t even think of a funny simile about him, might actually really become president of the USA. I’d never considered that I’d feel like I’d let Tiny down, simply by bringing him into the world. 

I didn’t know whether to write these things, as it’s not the image and tone I like to portray in my Gobshite guise. However I feel it would be rude to not address it and also it helps purge some of the negativity I feel. It’s at this point I feel the need to look back on a random quote I found in the rabbit hole that is a viral Facebook post:

Think of it like this; the world you live in today is fairer, more tolerant and less dangerous than the one you were born into. It might not seem it is but its true. And that world was better than the one I was born into. There is more tolerance, and less bigotry. The world my grandparents were born into was between two world wars. Children died of disease we now vaccinate against routinely. Science has saved billions of lives in that way. Your kids will be in a generation where living a good life that lasts for a century is going to be normal. But all this happens because you love them and bring them up to have the values you talk about. And you need to want it for everyone’s children, including those from a country where its leaders are evil murdering bastards. (please note: I would love to credit the person who wrote this but it really was one of those Internet blackhole Moments!)

So inspired by this I focus on positives. It’s bloody hard but I try and think of all the the things I’m not afraid of, such as: I’m not afraid of people with different skin to mine, *shock/horror* even the ones wearing a headscarf and sporting an accent! I’m not afraid of teenagers (they just piss me off eight hours a working day), I’m not afraid of opening my mouth and saying what I think. I’m not afraid to travel (hell I’ve booked three bloody holidays for next year.) I’m not afraid to try cheap make up, now Mr Gobshite works part time it can’t all be Mac and Nars if I still want weekly wine. I’m not afraid to maintain hope that Tiny will be a morally decent human being.

I think of the things I enjoy: wine.

I think of other things I enjoy, besides wine: the company, achievements, support and milestones of my friends and family. I am truely privileged to be surrounded by people who are creative, ambitious, outstanding parents, dreamers etc etc. Fuck some of them are just normal,which is nice. I enjoy Tiny growing and learning, with a pride I didn’t know was possible. Although I do wish he would learn a wave should stop after a few seconds and not involve simply raising hie erect hand above his head for several seconds….gets kinda awkward when he’s got a side parting. I enjoy seeing Mr Gobshite happy in his life and work in a way I’ve never seen before. I enjoy a comfortable life with choice.

Reflecting on what I’ve written, I can see I’m happy and fullifilled. Im greatful for this and hope it lasts. I may live in a world where that isn’t guaranteed but I should appreciate it, that I’m sure of. 

As is my style I’m abruptly done here. My main concern about this post is that Mr Gobshite isn’t here to proof read and I can’t be arsed to wait for him to do so. Hope you’ve enjoyed reading, I’ll try to be more sarcastic and funny again next time. Maybe sending more wine will help, hint hint.

PS: Mum, I tried really hard not to say fuck or fucking during this post. Hope I made you proud, it was fucking hard work not to! 

Why can’t we be happy for those doing well?

You know that thing people do when they’ve sat an exam: “I did so bad on that!” “Me too.” “No I totally did worse, I didn’t know anything.” “Me neither, I just drew a giant cock ‘n’ balls on the paper.” Parenting can be a bit like that, one big anti-competition. If you’re up and dressed before Jeremy Kyle starts his merry dance as chav pied-piper no1, you’re actually failing. Drunk a cup of tea, hot, don’t utter a fucking word about it, nobody wants to know unless you microwaved it at least twice. The quickest and easiest way to be cut dead at a playgroup is to casually mention that your child sleeps well.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m aware that some parents really do struggle to adjust to life with a child and that is a totally different matter, not one to take lightly. I genuinely feel for these people and hope they get the help and support they need. I do imagine the anti-competition doesn’t really help that much, I couldn’t say for certain though. As with everything I write, I can only comment on personal experience.

In my experience anti-competitive parents, in particular mothers, don’t like to hear from other who are essentially doing OK. It goes against everything we are told about child rearing, to find it manageable is not the done thing. A few months ago the following post went viral:

Now I know, I know it’s a terrible post. The tone is bitchy, annoying and bragging, she could have said these exact things in a much more friendly manner. However what was astounding was the amount of women, who couldn’t wait to pull the ideas to shreds. Not just her, everything she wrote about was utterly obliterated. It would appear the whole of the internet and their scabby dogs couldn’t wait to stick the boot in. All too bloody obviously the running theme of most posts started with “just you wait until…”

At the risk of throwing myself under the metaphorical bus, there is a lot I agree with in the post. I’m only 7 months in, so feel free to lecture me on how I know fuck all really, but I can count on less than one hand the days I’ve not showered, had to let a hot meal go cold, failed to put on make up or gone to bed with the house looking like a shit tip. Once they start moving there’s a shed load of interactive contraptions designed to trap your growing TH. Don’t be a shower and slap martyr, chuck them in the jumperoo and have a bloody wash! Toys everywhere, it takes 5 minutes to hurl all that crap in a blanket box at 7pm, with one hand, while swigging wine with the other. Some people don’t care or mind about tidying plastic shit away, doing their hair or painting their face. If it’s not a priority for you, why bother? That’s fine but why get so angry with those who do? Is it because they are not playing the anti competition game expected of them? I suspect so. Like the poster above, my own TH is happy, well fed, loved, bathed and clean, yet it seems that some people arent satisfied it’s not at the detriment of some other aspect of my life. I balance child rearing with a generally presentable home and personna, deal with it. Maybe “they” are all right though and I’ll have egg on my face in a few years, I don’t know. I do know though that many many people made out like I’d have had it much worse between day dot and now, which hasn’t happened.

Now I’m thinking at this juncture some readers might be confusing “doing well” with “finding it easy” which is not the case at all. My lifestyle has completely changed, some of my days are loooooooooong, boring and frustrating. Money is tight on maternity, days out and playgroups are expensive. Stomach bugs are disgusting (when will the highchair stop stinking of shit? I cleaned it real good). TH has boundless energy and enthusiasm, which is beautiful but exhausting. I have a special skill for bending my hair in front of him, when his hands are covered in cream cheese, which actually makes me feel murderous. If he doesn’t stop trying to eat my limited edition Urban Decay lipstick each morning, I might disown him. Teeth, TEETH?!? I can’t even write about the curveball those fuckers have thrown. I’ve cried and hidden in the bathroom a scattering of times. I’ve furiously drunk wine and I’ve comfort eaten alot of chocolate and the bastard things still keep growing. Raising a child is none stop, constantly changing and sometimes a battle, there is nothing easy about it. Despite all this, I think I’m doing a good job while maintaining a home, marriage and lifestyle which I largely enjoy. Again I’m not saying it’s perfect, my friends will vouch for the fact I can bitch for England about things pissing me off in life.

Is it OK though to say “On the whole I’m doing well thanks?” I don’t feel like it is. I feel like people aren’t goint to like I’ve said it. I feel like I’m letting someone down, somehow, by always being dressed before 10am. I feel like I’m letting down those who really really do struggle and am afraid it might stop them opening up. However I’d be letting myself down if I wasn’t honest.  Its OK to admit you’re doing a good job, so go on do it! You’re version of a “good job” may be different to mine, it doesn’t mean one of is right and the other wrong. It doesn’t mean we need to compete over who had the most baltic coffee or when we last dusted the bookshelves. It just means we are doing a good job in our way.

Guilt: do we really need it?

I went on a hen do this weekend. It was bloody fantastic, 24 hours of drinking, dancing and eating with some of the funniest individuals I know. I wore my hair pretty, my make up game was strong and my shoes were not sensible. I even used a handbag, a real life handbag! Granted there were wet wipes in it BUT they were for the recovery of a very silly game that involved lipsticks and blindfolds. On the second day I drunk prosecco (bottle, not glass) with breakfast and did a shot on the train. It was one of the best weekends of my life. To top it all off, I wasn’t even hungover…I’ll stop now, I’m just bragging!

Did I miss TH? NOT ONE LITTLE BIT. There you go, I said it. I chatted about him a bit, proudly showed off the pictures Mr Gobshite sent me and called early evening to check on him. I am not for one second saying I didn’t care about how he was or that resuming care of him, once I wasn’t 90% alcohol, was to be dreaded, I’m just saying I didn’t miss him. Why would I? I knew perfectly well I’d see him the next day and, more to the point, I was way too busy having fun. I’d not forked out for a new dress, wore silver heels and spent more than my monthly council tax bill on vodka/coke to waste it pining after someone who spends most waking hours puking or pooing in my presence. When I was reunited with him, late Sunday afternoon, seeing his little face was chuffing unbeatable, nobody has ever looked that excited to see me in my whole life. If anything it makes me more excited to be away from him again, to get that smile again!

I’m also fully aware that if I was any sort of decent mum I would have been updating my Facebook status, telling everyone what a great time I’d had but how much I’d missed my precious TH and couldn’t wait for snuggles. I posted pictures of me drinking with my fry up and called the stags losers.

So why am I divulging all this? To make me look like a heartless bitch? No. To show off about what an ace time I had? A little. To raise the issue of guilt? Mostly. I don’t feel guilty for leaving my child for one night and I don’t feel guilty for not missing him. Since Mr Gobshite and I aim to care for him, in our home, for at least the next 18 years, I’m pretty certain I’m going to see a lot of him. Yet time and time again I hear other parents, particularly mothers, say they feel guilty or bad for leaving their children to go have fun. I’m honestly not sure whether they mean it or feel like they have to say it (FYI: I know some people genuinely don’t want to, and therefore never spend time away from their children, which is cool but not something I can identify with at all.) Either way I honestly struggle to believe grown men and women are sobbing into smartphone photo albums of their own TH’s “missing” them, whilst having a child free night. Bullshit, it’s the last glass of red talking. I’m pretty sure while you were eating a beautiful meal, taking in a ballet, dancing too late at a loud gig, sitting on the sofa without a shit load of coloured plastic etc etc…YOU WERE NOT MISSING YOUR KID and you certainly didn’t feel guilty about it.

I recently attended a health and well being evening for mothers. It was largely guffy shit and a bit patronising. However it was a child free event and an excuse to put on some slap. I did totally agree with a small part of the philosophy discussed though, in that a parent still needs to make time for joy away from their child. For some it is enough to snatch 10 minutes in the toilet, others an hour in the gym, a night away, half an hour in bed with a book. Everyone is different in how much is enough for them but none should feel guilty about it. You are still an individual, you are not your child, you do not have the same needs or desires and you do not need to feel (or pretend to feel) gulity about this.

On a much shorter note, I often hear people talk about how they feel guilty working. Now I’ve not yet returned to work, so don’t want to yak on about this and then have metaphorical egg on my face if I get it wrong. I prefer to speak from personal experience, rather than presume. However I don’t get this either. My work provides the roof over our head, allowed me the finanical opportunity to take 8 months off, provides money with which to buy TH more shit than he needs and pays well enough to allow Mr Gobshite to leave his own job to care for TH. Why on Earth would I feel guilty about working? I’m aware the profession in which I work is demanding of extra curricular (clue to role right there) time but I’ve done a lot more donkey work for less pay and holiday. However I feel like I should cover this once I’ve returned and who knows, maybe I’ll eat my metaphorical hat?

I love the time I spend with my son immensely but I also have no issue admitting I enjoy the time without him too, guilt free. Usually for me it’s an hour at the gym a few times a week and once a month when Grandma Gobshite takes him for the night. Maybe I’m alone in feeling this way but I hope not. I just wish parents would feel more comfortable in expressing what they really think, feel and enjoy. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You’ll connect with like minded rearers of small movers? You could inspire others to be more open? If you’ve read through and don’t agree with me at all, fair enough, it might help to know I do lots of things I feel guilty about every day, both related to TH (jumparoo neglect) and not, I’m just not sorry that enjoying myself without him isn’t one of them.

Thanks as always for reading and I hope as always I’ve entertained in some way. Obviously need to answer my own title question: no, no we fucking don’t, there’s plenty of other stuff to get bogged down in though, so don’t feel bad about it!

Unwanted advice, insights and general smugness

Babies are easy talking points for many people. Friends, acquaintances, family and strangers can all find something to say or ask, when you are carting a TH around. This post is tricky to write as nearly everything is said with good intentions and it seems unfair to be rude. That said, when I declared my intentions to cover the subject matter, I was inundated with requests as to what to include. It seems that mothers and fathers everywhere are bored to tears with repetative questioning, strange questioning and unwanted advice. So as not causing offense has never been my strong point and my audience has requested it, here we go…

1) Pre birth: enjoy “it” now, you won’t be able to do that once the baby comes.

“It” usually meaning sleep or going out, to a lesser extent looking after your appearance and occasionally revolving around taking a shower (note these are not exhaustive “it” options.) Please can we calm down on the filling parents-to-be with the impending sense of doom? None of us venture this path thinking our lives will carry on like before but this precursor is taking the fun out of the change. There’s stuff I used to enjoy that I can’t relish in anymore and I do sometimes mourn for my old life (mainly drinking lots) but there’s a a whole new range of things I can enjoy! Also: Sleep? Honestly, I get more of it than when I was working full time. Appearance? Piling on the slap is part of TH’s morning routine (he loves the brushes and my vlogger style commentary on what I’m plastering on.) Shower? It’s all a bit Freudian, loves watching…that or trying to eat loo roll! Going out? I come home earlier and pour a lot less pinot down my neck.

2) Pre birth: do you miss alcohol? You won’t even be bothered about it after. Is Mr Gobshite drinking less?

FUCK YES. LIES. NO (in fact he drunk more expensive beer since the rounds were so cheap.)

3) Mostly pre birth: You’ll wonder what you did with your life before.

Let me think about that: left home, gained an education, employed in a variety of trades, went to uni again, began my career, travelled solo, travelled with friends, formed relationships with friends, dated unsuitable men, dated decent men, dated exciting men, enjoyed single life, went dancing every weekend, ate in fabulous restaurants, stayed up until the early hours listening to music too loud, lived with strangers who became friends, read more novels than I can remember, met my husband, travelled together, bought a home, learnt to love red wine, developed my fashion sense, indulged in expensive haircuts, honed a bangin’ body (I had abs for christs sake), spent time with family….WONDER WHAT I DID WITH MY LIFE? I chuffing lived it mate and made some fantastic memories. Now, I’ll carry on living it and making new ones.

4) Around due date: is the baby here yet? Have you tried…?

Listen here: if you have to ask, via Facebook, if the babies here yet. We obviously aren’t that close. A social media whore (me) will post it the minute its out her fanny. If someone is more private and you’re not in the inner circle, suck it up, you’ll find out on the grapevine.
Have you tried…? Basically guaranteed to make any pregnant woman, particularly the overdue ones, want to turn a bit stabby. FYI: don’t do what I did and try and eat the curry once labour starts (I was scared of not being allowed to eat in hospital.) Your body is designed to “cleanse” itself at this point…out both ends. Comprende?

5) Pretty much the second you have the baby: when are you having another?

I still cannot get over how often I am asked this. It’s such a presumptious and offensive question, especially when asked by strangers. Strangers who know nothing of the individuals journey to the one in front of them. Strangers who still carry on insisting “ohhhh you can’t just have one, it’s not fair on them!” What about what’s fair on my body? My financial situation? My relationship situation? What if this one destroyed my relationship? What about if this was a rainbow baby? What if this was a miracle baby? What about if this one was an accident? What about if I can’t have any more IVF? What about if I had PND and am terrified? What if one’s just so much bloody hard work I can’t be arsed with another? Sssssshhhhhhhhh, stop asking.
Besides all this, why is it so unbelievable that some people just want one child? There appears to be an ongoing narrative that there’s something wrong with one child families, sort of an inverse China!

6) Post birth: are you enjoying it?

Really, can parenting a new baby be reduced to a closed question? Looking at the whole picture, as in 24 hours a day, 7 days a week etc etc…no, no I’m not. Please don’t think I mean I hate it, “enjoy” is just the wrong word to describe the overall experience. There’s too much happening to “enjoy” consistently. For me there are moments of overwhelming joy, nearly every day, so much so I could burst with happiness. But then there is daily frustration, boredom and worry. There are days when I’m so done with mothering I practically throw TH at Mr Gobshite when he gets home and run away. My days are long but fulfilling and I couldn’t say I “enjoy” them all.
As with many off hand questions aimed at new parents, it also shows very little consideration regarding PND. People may be smiling and well presented but it doesn’t mean they are not struggling on the inside. At the risk of sounding like the teacher I am, maybe a more open ended question would be better.

7) Post birth: is he good?

I don’t know what this question means. I think people mean sleep when they ask this but I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to write about this as it confuses me so much and people ask it all the time! Any help appreciated.

8) Post birth: you’ve got all this to come.

Basically “just you wait” in another disguise. Sneaky sneaky. Often said by parents who’s kids are currently being shitty, whilst trying to vaguely reprimand them but failing miserably.

As seems to be style, I’m abruptly done here. Maybe it can be my signature move? Neat conclusions are for people with too much time on their hands, I’m just trying to bash this out and enjoy my alone/adult time before TH wakes again! As always I hope you’ve enjoyed reading, or if you’ve not, that I was at least interesting enough to hold your attention to the end and bitch about after! 

Goin’ pub wi’ a babi.

Once upon a time my life was baby free and beautiful. By beautiful I mean: clean, lacking pratical clothing, easy to leave the house and full of endless hours spent in drinking establishments. Occasionally I would arrange to meet friends with babies, to which the question of “I’m not sure if that place is baby friendly” often came up. That ‘place’ frequently meaning the pub. I assumed that viewing the pub as evil, like many aspects of child rearing, was something I failed to grasp the concept of (along with presenting raisins as a delightful treat) and I’d get it if/when I sqwoze a TH out.

Five months into my own rearing of tiny human (TH) I am yet to discover why the pub is such a terrible place to take him; in fact I’m convinced its an undiscovered gem of convenience. Now I’m not stupid, I know perfectly well some people read this with the sole intention of knocking my parenting style, while reinforcing they are doing the ‘right thing.’ For those people: I DO NOT SPEND ALL DAY EVERYDAY IN THE PUB GETTING PISSED. I could blandly list the many many MANY baby groups we go to (FYI: at least once a day we fill our boots with singing, clapping, eating coloured plastic, loving other babies in the eye and downing tea) but really that would be rather bloody boring. I LOVE baby groups, OK? Truely I do. My favourite group? An afternoon one, where we all hit the local after, babies in tow, drinking £1 wine (maternity pay needs to stretch sisters). I seriously champion the pub. I’m not advocating hanging out there all day, believe me I’ve tried. Even my 5 month old knows I’m conning him that the selection of condiments and cutlery are sensory toys. I’m just saying, give it a chance.

It’s also worth noting I’ve never really gotten coffee culture. I’ll be honest, I’m a little more open to it since having TH. There’s a fabulous coffee shop near me, where TH is a real hit with staff and they serve a bangin’ jacket spud. As a result we visit most weeks. But I just don’t get it. I could never wax lyrical about lattes and I didn’t piss myself with excitement when Costa came to town. I seriously just don’t give any fucks about hot drinks and overpriced muffins. It’s pretty safe to say TH will never be served a babyccino; the idea makes me gag at the smugness of it all. As is a common theme in my blog: my adult lifstyle preferences didn’t die with the birth of my child. Cut me in half and I bleed pub; seriously. It is with great pride I state: I went into labour in our local AND it was the first place I went after I had him. We still go in most weeks; the landlady doesn’t think twice about scooping up TH and taking him behind the bar to pull pints.

Many years ago taking a baby, or a child, to the pub was unheard of. Grandma Gobshite reliably informs me that in her day it was a serious no go, smokey and bloke filled boozers dominated the pub scene. Times have seriously changed, the smoking ban was clearly a big one and also the rise of ‘ladette’ culture in the 90’s. Whilst the likes of Zoe Ball and followers have mellowed out (although recent gossip rags suggest otherwise) they paved the way for women in pubs being acceptable. It is no longer an outlandish idea that a woman will walk into a bar by herself, order a drink by herself, and drink that drink by herself. Thank you progress! The biggest clue that babies are welcome too? Do I even need to write it? Seriously? OK, baby change facilities. I could get seriously pissy about them frequently being only in the ladies but I’ll suck it up, for now. Baby change (along with highchairs and colouring sheets) is a clear indication that you and your TH are welcome.

That said my favourite boozer, in which to take TH, provides nothing in the way of baby friendly facilities, literally nothing. It is in every possible sense an ‘old mans pub.’ I find I can only write about it in contrast to the neighbouring facilities. Let’s say said neighbouring facility is a large department store that does a cracking line in Christmas adverts. Let’s say it’s also supposedly baby friendly, yet has its changing facilities on a completely different floor to the café and also requires you to balance your wares (that are rather expensive) on a tray in order to get to a table. Said table is also several miles away (seemingly) and the pathway scattered with dozens of unmoving elders and their shopping. Want to park your buggy up? Fine, as long as you are at peace with the buggy blocking the entire aisle. Highchair? I don’t even know where they keep them, can only assume they are conjoured up via witchcraft. My favoured boozer next door? I can walk in, park up TH at a table, keep one hand on him and order a coke (and/or wine) with the other. What’s that he needs changing and…fuck me, there’s no changing facilities! I should get on my high horse and complain that they dare not pander to my baby needs. Oh no it’s fine to do it at the table, on the bench or (horror of Horrors) the floor! Believe me I’ve asked and pointed out it’s not going to be pretty, seriously no problem! It’s occasionally a spectator sport, hark at the weird yellow poo! I cannot even begin to describe how much more relaxing it is than navigating the mdf aisles of next door. My friend’s toddler, roams free, on the carpeted floor, amongst the empty tables and without the fear of molten liquid being poured upon his head. No way that would happen next door.

Now old men pubs are all well and good but let’s face it, they frequently serve shit wine. I’ve made no secret of the fact: I love wine. I also think it’s acceptable to have a glass or two with TH in tow, get the fuck over it haters. For a decent wine, you need a bar. Bizarrely the most baby friendly bars I’ve been to have steps BUT have also had the best changing facilities. Sister gobshite lives in another city, the best baby change in that city? A John Lewis stacker, with a proper cushioned mat and wipes. Location? Up 10 steps in a city centre bar. This city? 3 good size steps, perfect baby change and brilliant large bar both suitable for toddler roaming and baby juggling. I’m telling you: don’t be put off by steps, it’s totally worth the upper arm workout in my experience.

Now we all know, I gave up the tit long ago but it’s worth mentioning: I whacked it out in them all, from the lowly to the classy and never had an issue. In good old ‘spoons a man once approached me while TH was on a tit, glass of wine in my hand, I thought “here comes the judging”..asked if I’d let him know when I was done, so he could look at the baby!

So there we have it peeps; the pub; perfect lone lady and TH haven with all the facilities and none of the hot liquids, definitely “baby friendly.”

*Further to this blog: I’m looking into setting up a “babies, besties and a bar” group in Sheffield. A group for small people, their big people and big people’s friends, who’d like to meet up, drink a little (or a lot, or none…it’s your call) in a boozer. I’d love to know if it’s of interest to anyone.

“Just you wait…”

I’ve encountered very few statements that start with the words “just you wait…” that haven’t been accompanied by me silently plotting the imminent, untimely death, of the mouthpiece.
Considering it is mostly spewed forth by pre-existing parents, I can only assume they loved being fucking patronised pre-child.

I was going to cover other sayings that make me want to coax my eyes out with a teaspoon but changed my mind. Not only is “just you wait” deserving of its own place but I’ve had loads of suggestions for others, both publicly and privately, I want to dedicate more time to in the next post. Please let me know any of yours you want adding.

The first whiff of JYW (just you wait) starts waaaaaaaay before producing a TH. In my experience it begins with the enjoyment of adult life. I mean proper adult life, like when you’re serious enough about it to consider a wine list, not just pick the cheapest. When taster menus are a way of life. Sunday’s involve reading a big newspaper over brunch AND not just because other people might see and aspire to be you. Long weekends in European cities on cheap Ryanair flights are regular occurances. Fuck, you even once ordered an organic veg box or tried a fitbit! YOU ARE LIVING THE ADULT LIFE, YOU MATURE BASTARD!
And there they are, the one’s who know better than you, for they have reproduced, bow down. Myself and Mr Gobshite were together five and a half years before we considered children, two of those married. For every child unfriendly activity (a term I use loosely, as I strongly believe you can shoehorn a TH into most activties) we undertook there always seemed to be some smug shit telling us “JYW you won’t be able to do that when you have kids.” What was clearly surprising was my frequent answer of “I know; I’m quite aware I can’t have a TH and do these lovely things” was met with slackjawed dumbfoundedness. I can only presume people who questioned me in this way spent their pre child life prepping, like those doomsday nuts on discovery. Adult only, all inclusive holidays? Noooooooo they spent two weeks milking up on the John Rocha pure cotton sheets and mumbling “fuck just turn it round” while throwing plastic bags of shit down the stairs, several times a night. THEY KNEW HOW TO LIVE. FACT.

Sub category of JYW pre children: “You’ll understand when you have kids/you don’t understand because you don’t have kids.”

I feel the same as I did now I have a kid, as I did before, it’s very simple: fuck the fuck off with your patronising attitude to my child free life, it is/was beatiful and fullifilled, understand that twat. As per my post on shit quotes, no empty space in this here heart, how dare it be presumed that wanting/having kids gives a better perspective on life.

So then you actually get knocked up and it really ramps up. I could go on forever but I’m going to stick with the one that bothered me the most and simultaneously offers advice to any pregnant women reading. DON’T EVER MENTION BEING TIRED/TAKING A NAP WHILE PREGNANT. I will eat my metaphorical hat if you’ve not had a convo like this:
Twat: how’s pregnancy going?
Me: I’m tired/I had a three hour nap today
Twat: JYW until the baby comes, you’ll never sleep again.
Me: I suppose the next thing you say will be….
Twat: make the most of it now
Me: yeah I thought so, saves me putting that as a sub category in my blog, thanks
Twat: you’re a bit rude aren’t you
Me: no, just fucking spot on bro

Following this you either squeeze out your TH or have it ripped from you, well done, have a lolly (not a sticker, don’t push your luck). Lo and fucking behold, your TH will begin to develop. This is when JYW sayers really come into their own, often with no prompting.

TH: *cries*
Twat: JYW until that gets louder

TH: *sleeps*
Twat: JYW until he’s teething/talking/able to climb out/shagging some bird he’s dragged home from plug at 3am

TH: *rolls*
Twat: JYW until he’s crawling/walking and destroying you’re lovely lovely cream house and carpets

TH: juggles fire
Twat: JYW he’ll burn the house down

I mean really? Did these people enjoy being showered with perpetual morbid foresights when they had their first child? Here’s the thing, I’m chosing not to live in a constant state of fear over what’s to come. Even though some days bring developments that scare me shitless, I’ll do my best to live for the moment. Yes he’ll fall over, eat crayons, talk shit etc BUT it will be fine.

The same people who love to tell me JYW also seem to be fond of waxing lyrical over how quickly time goes. The cliché around time is, however, is very true. If I spent my time worrying about the JYW moments to come, I’d be missing so much. TH is just over 5 months old and everyday he learns something new and exciting. Until today I didn’t realise I could take pleasure in someone else noticing they have toes but TH’s discovery of such was brilliant. It’s not a case of ‘just you wait’ it’s a case of ‘I can’t fucking wait…’

Misleading Memes and shit quotes

There are plenty of lovely things to be said about pregnancy and motherhood, should you wish to read them…you’re on the wrong blog I’m afraid. That said I am a fan of thinking and saying fairly nice things about TH, yet I have never been inspired to “like” or “share” the absolute shite that clogs up social media regarding the subject.

For this edition of my blog I have decided to ruthlessly and publicly pick apart some of the ones that bother me the most. The one’s that encourage parents walk round like a dog with two dicks, have unrealistic expectations or are just plain silly.

1)

I’ve seen this again and again, particularly on the Facebook pages of companies aiming their products at new mothers. I mean seriously, where do I even start? Well there’s the uncomfortable linking of a “date” in two totally different contexts. It’s been a while since I went on one but my understanding of a “blind date” is somewhere in the range of ‘cheeky little kiss-get laid’ depending on your morals. It’s pretty safe to say, wherever you sit on the moral scale, you do not want to date your newborn baby. Don’t try and pun on it in this way, it’s weird.

Let’s carry on with the line “you KNOW you will meet the love of your life.” Do we know that though?  What about women who suffer with PND? What about women who need to take time to get to know their newborn? The expectation of instant love, not just here in this crappy quote but evident in a lot of pre birth narrative puts too much pressure on women. It’s fine and normal to not feel an instant rush of love, don’t sweat it.

The best thing I have to say about this quote though is not something I said, I wish I did! Upon telling a friend about it he replied: “what a load of rubbish, labour is the only date of your life where, unless you’re very unlucky or specialist, you know you’re likely to have your fanny stitched up.”

2)

I don’t like to brag about it but…my labour was bigger than your labour. It was probably about 40 hours bigger than yours, at a grand total of 48 hours. So I think I’m in a pretty good place to comment on what one ‘leaves’. For the sake of humour I shall proceed to use ‘leave’ in the past tense of ‘left’, flows better.
I left my pajamas at about 30 hours in, when I was just too fucking hot for clothes. On a pile, on the floor, along with my dignity.
I left midwifery led care in a wheelchair, at about 35 hours, chosing outside triage to attempt to scream my baby out, much to the delight of concerned 20 weekers and first twinges inside.
I left my manners, much to the horror of my mother, at about 39 hours…when I mistook the tea lady for the anaesthetist and screamed things at her that still make me feel guilty.
I left my confidence that I could do it, at around 42 hours and sobbed in my husbands arms.
I left my trust in the hands of the NHS, who did their best to give me the birth I wanted before consenting to an emergency c-section at 48 hours.
I left the hospital after 2 days in recovery, clutching TH, unable to walk further than the toilet and drugged off my tits on a pick ‘n’ mix of medication.
Do I even need to explain how very far from travelling to the stars I was?
Again with the quote pressure, no!

3)

This one floors me, truely knocks me down with its down right offensiveness. It implies so much about women and men who chose not to have children. Look at them, those who don’t want kids, with their less fullifilled life than us, their inabilty to know love truely as they don’t have children. Can we, parents, just get the fuck over ourselves. We don’t know love any better than those that choose to not become parents; it’s a bit twatish to act like we do.

Ooooohhh let’s not forget to twist the knife in a bit more for those struggling to concieve, by making sure shit like this is splattered over social media. Now I’m not a complete bitch, despite the tone of my blog, I really wanted a baby and love TH. I cannot even begin to understand or write about how it must feel to go through that, so I won’t, it would be patronising, just like this quote.

Now then I just have the one TH, what I’m thinking is: if I have 25 kids surely my heart will be, like, really really full? Surely that space in there can’t be infinite? Fucking hell it’s going to burst out isn’t it and get into my lungs? Then when I breathe out, I will always whisper “I’m a mother don’t you know.”

4)

Really? We’ve fought for generations to be considered equal to men and still spew this sort of shit? Now Emily Davison’s reasons for throwing herself under the horse aren’t fully known BUT I’m pretty sure she wasn’t thinking about how we should all swell with pride at getting ourselves knocked up.
I’ve simultaneously done a lot with my life and also not very much, when I compare myself to female peers. I’m very happy to be a mother but it’s not what I’m most proud of. however this isn’t my record of achievement, so I won’t list them. I just want to put it out there: you don’t have to strut round like the cock of the walk because you gave birth, women have been doing it literally forever. Maybe take more pride in achievements over adversity, patriarchal society and those that were just plain hard work.

5)

IT’S NOT A FUCKING JOB. OK? It’s just not. It certainly wouldn’t be the best job even if it was. That’s reserved for those people who get to be chocolate testers, puppy strokers, panda cuddlers and holiday destination seekers.
The dictionary definition of job is “a paid position of regular employment” or “a task that is paid.” Don’t even and try and come at me with that ‘paid in love’ shit, paid means cold hard cash and we all know it.

6)

Oh joy, we are promoting mothers guilt I see! I’m going to split this into sections in order to spit my vitriol.

“a choice you make everyday” It’s not a choice, once you’ve had the baby you’re kind of stuck with it.

“to put someone else’s happiness and well-being ahead of your own” Whoever wrote this has clearly not hid in the toliet, on Facebook, while listening to their baby whinge in the cot (he was napping five minutes ago….surely he’ll just go back to sleep?) They have also probably never shouted at same whinger “you’re just going to have to wait I need to fucking eat too!” It’s OK to put yourself first still, even if its just for a few minutes. If you can do it for hours, hell a full day and/or night, I salute you! I’m not advocating neglect here but just saying, you’re happiness and well being still matter as much. As one good midwife said to me “happy mum means happy baby,” I personally need to put myself first sometimes for that to happen.

“Do the right thing even when you’re not sure what the right thing is…” that’s just confusing and surely written to make the reader feel even worse? “Do what’s right, in your reasoned opinion” would have been better.

“forgive yourself over and over again, for doing everything wrong.” I mean, come on? Why? Please please stop putting this sort of guilt shit on mums. TH is five months old today, I’ve done stuff that’s gone well, I’ve done stuff that’s not gone so well. None of it is bloody wrong. It’s a well worn cliché that these things don’t come with instruction manuals, you can’t get it wrong, just do it at least adequately (I don’t say best because, honestly? Some days you just won’t have it in you) each day and that’s fine.

7)

And some clean up, or pay their happy kids to do it. Neither is a bad mum. Fact. I don’t know where this narrative comes from, that your house has to be a shit tip, when you have kids, but it pisses me off. There’s more stuff in my house now but it’s not turned into a hell hole. Anti competative parenting is just another tool to pit parents against each other and I don’t buy into it. My house is tidy still, yours might not be, let’s just get off our high horses about it.

8)

This one was picked by Mr Gobshite, in line with us both having a special place of hate regarding most views on men and parenting. I’m not an idiot, there are some terrible fathers but there are also terrible mothers. What there isn’t, are demeaning quotes and Memes about it. Mr Gobshite will be TH’s primary carer from 7 months onwards, yet he is still plagued by the narrative of ‘daddy daycare’ wherever he goes. ‘HARK, LOOK YONDER AT SIMPLE MAN CARING FOR HIS OWN CHILD, SURELY HE CANNOT OFFER THE SAME LOVE AND NURTURE AS THE MOTHER?’ Sorry to dissapoint but yes, yes he can. Dare I even say it? Yes, yes I do…sometimes he’s better than me at it! I take great pride in the fact I never forget all the ‘bits’ for going out but I have pretty much zero patience for repetative play, which TH loves. Mr Gobshite not only remembers everything to feed and clothe our child but can enthusiastically play the same thing for hours and fucking hours.

Now at this point I could publicly praise him for that but I’m pretty sure he would find it patronising. Like the time the health visitor at weigh in, held TH up like a golden prized piglet and declared “look how well he’s doing in daddy daycare, well done Daddy.” As if she somehow expected to find TH had regressed, having spent the morning in the company of his father.

Should you chose to co-parent a child, you should also chose to live in the modern world and do it together. Stop belittling the role of a father and putting on a pedestal that of the mother.

I could go on forever but I’ll stop now. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my second entry. Please feel free to add your own “favourite” quotes below. Don’t forget you can also find me on Facebook by searching “Gobshite and Tiny.”