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.
Toddlers, the mini tyrants of this world. They are the Kim Jong-un of the small persons world. We love them but toddlers are hard work, fact. Anyone saying otherwise is delusional, lying, or has help. And despite being so little, they contain a huge amount of energy that springs into action from the moment they open their eyes in the morning. I’ve yet to find an off switch. Especially when mummy has a hangover. When I think back to those early hazy days with a new-born, they’re like the holy grail. Okay, okay so there are some sleep issues and you’re running on empty, but when you finally venture out of the house, leaky boobs strapped down and downstairs bits not aching anymore, you can generally sit (or do the manic rocking holding the baby) and drink coffee and actually talk to friends. And I mean, actually have a proper five minute conversation uninterrupted. You’re not having to physically grapple muffins you haven’t paid for from a small child, and you’re not having to chase after your child whose legged it with the next tables pastries. As I attempted some menial tasks recently which the kid was making rather difficult, I started thinking about all of the easy, simple things we should be able to do that are made impossible or certainly a tad more stressful because of little people. Obviously this list could go on for ever, but here are a few things that sprang to mind.
I stumbled upon the term Secondary Infertility during one of my many Google searches last year. The phrase empowered me somewhat, because suddenly what I was experiencing had a name! This was good, it meant I could find a resolution and get to the bottom of things. But, it hasn’t been so. I didn’t think my husband and I would be that couple who’d have problems getting pregnant second time round, that happens to other people right? That wouldn’t happen to us? But here we are, a year and a half down the line and still no baby joy. After having a really early miscarriage in December 2015, I’m now experiencing what is known as ‘Secondary infertility’ (SI). Doctors describe it as, ‘the inability to conceive or carry to term a second or subsequent child’ and SI now accounts for six out of 10 infertility cases. The reasons could be a number of factors, but experts say it might be because women are having babies later in life, they’re stressed and tired already with their first child or from work, there might be a hormonal imbalance after their first pregnancy or there might be an underlying medical cause. In my case, there is no set explanation, there’s nothing physically wrong, things quite simply just aren’t happening.
Hello there. How is everyone? Did everyone survive Christmas unscathed? I did, just about although I’ve come out the other side another year older and the kid was sick on, yep you guessed it, Christmas Day, so that was fun. These things pick their moments don’t they *rolls-eyes*. Because of the eternal coughing, throat clearing and nose blowing that’s been taking place, I’ve not really felt in the mood for writing and having a break from it all at this time of year is rather nice. But, on the eve of what is a New Year, it seemed appropriate to stick some words down, for my own benefit really.
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.