I’m Turning Into My Mother

Mothers Day is fast approaching and I’ve been thinking about the fact that as my years creep ever closer to forty (I mean, really?!) that I’m slowly but surely turning into my mother. Actually scrub that, I don’t notice it so much, it’s my husband who tells me I am. It’s inevitable really isn’t it what with the DNA and all, it’s something that can’t be helped or stopped, no matter what your relationship. I love my mum dearly, she’s done so much for me over the years, the one I look to for advice but it hasn’t always been this way. We had a rough ride when I was younger. I was a typical teenager and I caused her a lot of heartache and grief, for which I carry a lot of guilt for (it’s okay, I’ll be punished via my own daughter, karma and all that) I used to hate it when people told me I looked like my her but now I love it, I’m her daughter, that’s our eternal link and bond. Now that I have a daughter myself I understand that link that will always be there. Plus I know that I can’t fight it, it’s happening whether I like it or not. I’ve had a bit of a think and here are a few signs that I’m turning into my mother.

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Its OK Not To Be ‘That’ Mum

Being a mum is a whole load of swings and roundabouts emotions. It’s a constant up and down from the moment you have your baby. A lot of people suddenly have an opinion once you become a parent. It’s like the world now has the right to chip in about how you adult your children. And what with being judged, there’s also us judging ourselves. With Social Media now there’s a lot to compare ourselves too. You can’t but help look at that ridiculously smiley, perfectly edited family on Instagram and wish your child would just bloody well sit still for a photo, wearing those hilarious comedy glasses you bought. Social Media can at times make us think that our lives aren’t pastel enough, colourful enough, or fun enough!! Argh!! You can also (without meaning to) spend a lot of time comparing yourselves to other mums that you meet, at playgroups, softplay or at the school gates. This post is about not being that mum who seems to have it all.

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The truth about being a mum

Us mums can sometimes get a bad wrap, and I’m not talking the sandwich variety here. If we’re not hating each other, we’re being too smug, we’re being too competitive, we’re not good enough, we drink too much coffee and wine, or we dare enjoy just being ‘mums’ and not working!  All these traits tend to be banded about in the media I hasten to add, I don’t believe any of this rubbish. We are what we are, us mums, and I think that truth be told, the majority of us are doing a damn good job, even if we do happen to feed the kids beige food three days in a row (*cough, that definitely wasn’t me, cough*) Being a mother is incredibly hard at times but it’s also hugely rewarding. It’s a large amount of good with a dose of bad thrown into the mix. So let’s get down to the nitty gritty, what’s the real truth about being a mum and what are the bits that people might fail to tell you about?

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In my thirties

Sometimes in life, things come to us easily. Some people just seem to have the right tools from the outset, whatever those ‘tools’ may be. Some people breeze along, always looking amazing and like nothing phases them. These people just seem to ‘get it’ right, whether that be clothes, hair, jobs or just life in general. Life just comes naturally to some people. And me? Well, I’m not one of those people. I never have been and I don’t think I ever will be, but it’s taken me a long time to accept that. In fact, it’s only really now that I’m in my thirties, oh who am I kidding, I’m the the grand old age of thirty seven (sob) that I’ve half-heartedly accepted this. But at this age, what exactly have I figured out? What have I finally got right, what have I accepted and what have I still not sorted out yet?

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Darling Daughter

The words to this letter have whirling around my head for a while now my darling daughter, really since the day you were born, but the time hasn’t felt right to put those words down until now. I wanted to write you a letter at each birthday but I think this one alone will hopefully cover the last two years of your busy little life. I’ve got so many things to say to you, to tell you and to let you know about, but I’ll try to keep this simple and not prattle on too much. I’ll get the slushy stuff out of the way first, okay?

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