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  •Get yourself some guilt-free me-time

  BULLSHIT, I hear you shout and yes, I hear ya, sister! But why the hell not? Why the hell should we not be able to get our knackered little mitts on some of this guilt-free good stuff and enjoy ourselves like the pioneering men in our lives? There is no reason. Yes, I know the biach that is mummy guilt is whispering her propaganda in your ear, attesting the opposite and making you believe that any time spent on things other than dirty bums, puréeing mush, Wheels on the Bus reruns and scraping human shit out of your nails means that you are a selfish bitch whore of a mother. Well to hell with it and to hell with you, Mother Nature! You know what? Some days the only thing I want to be scraping out of my unmanicured nails is the chocolate remains from an afternoon tea, or the leftover salt from a tequila slammer. In fact, anything other than another person’s poo (even if I grew that aforementioned person). Ladies, grad hold of this awesome pearl of Daddy wisdom and realise that you too deserve some quality time. You too are a person independent of the needs of your little one. Like the Dad in your life, remember that your little one is not going to be scarred for life because you took an hour out to go for a swim/sleep/walk/whatever the hell you want.

  •The Delayed Response manoeuvre

  Good God, who knew that the speed of light had nothing on the speed a new mum can travel across a Mega Blocks-littered nursery to stem the bleed of a scream? Oh yes, we are all over the shit that is responding to the needs of our little ones with the efficiency that can only be likened to the speed with which we can now crack open, pour and gulp a glass of vino at the end of the day (or mid-morning, depending on the shit that has already gone down). However, have you ever asked yourself why? OK, I know the immediate response is, ‘Well, of course, I get to my crying baby as quickly as possible’ – but why the panic? The men in our lives seem to operate on more of a wait and delay response. Whilst we are speeding across our bedrooms with our feet barely disturbing the thread of the carpet, panic rising from our gut to the back of our throats, our other halves are yet to emerge from the covers, let alone put on their PJ bottoms, pick up a bottle and saunter to answer the needs of the tiny human. And you know what I realised as I watched this delayed response that my hubby has mastered? No one died. Our little one got their milk and cuddles (albeit a few moments later than usual) and guess what? They went back to sleep, and my hubby sauntered back in and did the same. All whilst I lay wide awake, swimming in a mix of panic and awe at how the men in our life function so differently to us mums. Most importantly, I realised that we need to take a leaf out their book, give ourselves a break and realise that just because we don’t perform at lightning speed and answer every beck and call in a nanosecond, we are not failing and the world is not going to come to an end!

  •Take a shower without asking

  Yes, I know, I know, taking a shower without having to ask permission or make an official announcement is the unicorn of life as a mum. You want to believe in the possibility of it existing but are yet to see evidence! I am here to tell you, it does exist and is being ridden daily by your other half! Come on, girls, utter the magical and affirmative words of ‘Honey, I’m off for a shower’ and ride that unicorn of bliss that is taking a shower without asking. Grab your towel and indulge in a nice, hot shower. What about the kids? Don’t worry, just like they do with you, they will soon let their needs be known to your other half.

  •Give less of a shit!

  That snide woman at playgroup made some shitty remark about you still breast-feeding? That mum at the school gates gave you and your child a funny look during a tantrum? The mum otherwise known as the Rhyme Time Biach Face made another cutting remark? Ladies, this is where we need to get all Daddy. You see, the men in our lives not only don’t give a shit about this type of shit, they don’t even notice it exists! It goes completely under their radar – and even if it happens to penetrate their consciousness, they do not award it with anything but a moment’s acknowledgement (whether that be disdain, anger or ambivalence) before they move on. Unlike us, who can recall the exact date, time and GPS location on the playground where the incident took place. LET IT GO! MOVE ON! Let’s all be more Dad!

  •You don’t have to look ‘hot’ to have sex

  Contrary to popular belief – or should I say the crap that’s shoved down our throats from as early as we can say Just Seventeen or More magazine – we don’t have to look like Giselle to get our leg over our other half. As amazing and sexy as it would be to have every miscellaneous hair on your post-baby body trimmed and in place, tanned legs and manicured digits all ready and prepared for a night of hot sex, let’s face it, you could be (and probably are) waiting a hell of a bloody long time before any of that shit gets done and you and your nether regions get any action. Therefore, let’s be more Dad about it and just get down to it. Regardless of what you feel you look like, how out of shape you feel or how long it’s been since any personal admin took place, remember you have already pulled. He is living with you and will be wanting to have sex with you regardless of all the crap you tell yourself. He loves you and thinks you’re hot!

  So what are we waiting for you? Let’s go find our biggest, sexiest Daddy pants, pull ’em up and Be More Dad! Go on I double Dad dare you!

  A LITTLE BIT OF THANKS GOES A LONG WAY

  I wrote the following article for my husband after we had our second baby and quite literally had not spoken to each other for what felt like a year thanks to us having our heads up our arses trying to tame the chaos of having two tiny humans under two. It really struck a chord with lots of mums and dads who read my blog, so I wanted to share it with you and all your awesome partners.

  What the hell happened to us?

  Where have those funny, lovers of life, spur-of-the-moment people gone? You know the ones, they used to laugh together, loved hanging out together and revelled in being the best at looking after each other …

  Two years and two tiny humans later and I honestly think my hubby could come in with his leg in his hand and I’d ask him if he had managed to put a wash on or hang his coat up! Which has left me asking: ‘Am I a heartless biatch?’.

  This all came to light, a few months after we had our second little girl, when my hubby put his neck out and was in agony and struggling to move his head, let alone pack up the car, pick up the babies or change a dirty nappy – cue heartless biach alert. I suddenly realised whilst he was reliving the moment of pain to me, still dripping wet (over the bloody kitchen floor which I now had to mop up – gee thanks!), that I was thinking, ‘Great, here’s to a night of moaning and me having to do bath time on my own!’.

  It was my level of irritation that stopped me in my tracks and made me think how different my reaction would have been pre-baby. Firstly, I would have given a shit! Not to say that I don’t now, but I would be lying if I claimed to be totally occupied with how he is feeling and what I can do to help. Secondly, I would have run around getting him everything he needed to make him more comfortable, offering a neck rub, pills and sympathy, rather than just feeling annoyed that we were a man down and secretly thinking, ‘Is it really that bad?’. Again, cue heartless biach alert!

  If I throw total caution to the wind and am completely honest, I just don’t have the time for it. I don’t have any more energy left to give or any more caring bones in my body that have not already been hijacked and claimed by our two tiny humans.

  Cue the question: ‘When the hell did this happen to us?’ When the hell did we stop giving a damn about each other like how we used to? I hate to admit it, but it was when the second baby came along, delivering us two tiny humans under two. Grateful as we are for them, they have filled every corner of our lives and minds, squashing my hubby and I to the other sides of our new universe, with no time or energy to spare for each other.

  It’s a difficult one to admit to ourselves, let alone anyone else, that you have slipped into that dreaded cliché of 2.5 children, nagging at each other, worrying about money and
falling into bed for nothing more exciting than sleep. It’s even harder when you are faced with the unrealistic image of what a happy, harmonious family should be. You know the one, where the successful husband is always home to bath the kids and pour his wife a glass of Chablis, and where the hot mum is equally good at baking toddler-friendly cookies as giving head and scintillating conversation (not at the same time – no one is that good!). They are a couple who, despite having three kids, still find time for date nights and dirty weekends away and just can’t wait to have more children because they are just so shit hot at this parenting lark and, in particular, at looking shit hot whilst doing it. We’ve read the blogs with the glossy and perfect family images whilst we are sat in our puke-stained tracksuit bottoms, pushing a dry shampooed bit of hair out of our knackered faces to get a better look as we ask ourselves: ‘Are these parents for real? Is this really what our life should look like?!’.

  NO, IT’S NOT!

  Who has time to bake cookies let alone factor blow jobs into the equation, and as for scintillating conversation, that’s more exhausting than the thought of fellatio. So how the hell do we find the balance between the perfect lives we are fed through the glossy mags and blogs and the reality of what our everyday lives actually look like? And how do we get back to properly caring about our other halves?

  Now, without wanting to sound like I am as bad as the rest and trying to bullshit you, I think I may have found the answer and it’s so annoyingly simple – believe me, I am so annoyed at myself for not realising it sooner. Getting ourselves back on track starts with two words:

  ‘Thank you.’

  Bear with me. If, like me, you think back through any moments when you have wanted to kick the arse of your partner or moments when you have just about had enough, don’t they all stem from feeling underappreciated and like all your hard work keeping the babies alive, running the house and juggling the ups and downs of motherhood goes unnoticed and without any thanks? OK, so having your partner say thank you to you for looking after your tiny human all day may seem ridiculous on paper or unnecessary – but just think how great it would make you feel to hear it. And vice versa, saying a thank you to your partner for going out to work, putting out the bins or making dinner may not be ground-breaking or rock and roll, but in its simplest of forms it is showing our best mate, ‘our person’, that they are appreciated and that we notice them.

  I admit it I feel like I am run ragged most days and that my life is now all about other people. Don’t get me wrong, I chose to have children and love the bones of them, but sometimes I just need to hear ‘thank you’ – and so does my hubby. We and the men in our lives need to know that amongst the madness of this new world we have found ourselves in, and between the wall-to-wall baby paraphernalia and endless sleepless nights, we matter to each other. Out of everyone in the universe we have their back and are thankful to share it all with them, regardless of their stiff necks and your puke-covered track bottoms. If a thank you leads to feeling appreciated, which in turn leads us and our other halves to feeling like we actually care, then before you know it we will be baking cookies and – OK, that’s a step too far, but you get where I’m going!

  I tell you what, I’ll go first. Here goes …

  Mr Jamie Siegl, MERCI BUCKETS

  You ROCK my world xxx

  TELL MARVIN GAYE TO JOG ON

  OK, so come on, admit it. We’ve all been there when the only thing we want turned on is the telly and the most exciting thing we are lusting after in the bedroom is four hours of uninterrupted sleep. Therefore, this little rhyme is for all us wannabe lovers if only we weren’t too damn tired to be too damn sexy.

  (To be read to the tune of the awesome song ‘Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get it On’ by Charlie Puth with Meghan Trainor.)

  Tell Marvin Gaye to please jog on

  My libido’s upped and gone

  My pubes are dancing around my knees

  I piss my pants every time I sneeze

  The only thing I want turned on

  Is my TV box set marathon

  Tell Marvin Gaye to please jog on

  I know we ain’t had sex for far too long

  But I’ve been awake for twelve hours straight

  My poor tits look like dinner plates

  I just need sleep, is that so wrong?

  Tell Marvin Gaye to please jog on

  There’s nowt you can do to turn me on

  I’m just knackered and want my bed

  Don’t make me punch you in the head

  Tell Marvin Gaye he’s got it wrong

  Tell Marvin Gaye to please jog on

  My sex drive has long, long gone

  I don’t mean to be a bore

  But I don’t want to be ravished against the door

  Tell Marvin Gaye he’s got it wrong

  Tell Marvin Gaye to please jog on

  I’m too tired to give you one

  You’ve a spare hand of your own

  Just please don’t wake me when you groan

  Marvin Gaye, now PLEASE jog on

  CHAPTER 17

  WHAT DOES MOTHERHOOD MEAN TO ME?

  So, after all this has been said, done and read, what does motherhood actually mean to me?

  This is such a hard question to answer (honestly) and I didn’t realise how hard it was until seeing it written out before me.

  You see, I can churn out the bog standard and socially acceptable response of ‘It’s the hardest but most wonderful job in the world. One that I am privileged to be lucky enough to have the honour to carry out.’ Or I can offer the jokey ‘It means having another human’s poo under your fingernails on a daily basis, but I wouldn’t change it for the world – and it’s now one of the reasons I no longer bite my nails. Hey, every turd-lined cloud, eh?!’.

  But neither seem to quite cut it or tell the total truth.

  So what does motherhood REALLY mean to me?

  To me, motherhood has meant a plethora of things, ranging from the hilariously disgusting and heart-stoppingly beautiful to the mindshatteringly exhausting and at times downright petrifying.

  It has made me feel that life and its capabilities are the most profound and magical we could ever dare dream possible. It’s filled my heart with a joy I never knew existed, let alone knew that I was capable of feeling, and has given me a new meaning to my life, one that words are too mortal to explain.

  It has enriched my life. It has changed me forever. It has given me a new skill set and two tiny purposes who I would now be lost without. They are now as vital to my survival as any other one of my major life-giving organs.

  It has made me stronger, braver, more courageous, more ambitious than I have ever been. It has given my life meaning but has also taught me how easily I would give it up if it meant they kept theirs.

  As well as building and strengthening my personal kingdom, motherhood has also been the cause of its downfall.

  Motherhood has at times meant my darkest of days. It has meant me questioning the very essence of who I am. It has rendered me lost. It has at times meant me being more insecure, more isolated, more uncertain than I have ever been before in my life.

  Motherhood has meant me feeing I’m not good enough. Not up to the job. Not worthy of the title Mum. And it would be fair to say that motherhood has made me and broken me in equal measure.

  With this knowledge and with my own personal experiences in mind, if I am going to explain honestly what motherhood REALLY means to me right here, right now, this is what I would say:

  Motherhood to me means gloriously chubby fingers reaching desperately for mine. Salty dribble-filled kisses and being the only thing they need. Belly laughs and grubby faces. Ice cream smiles, dirty knees and tiny socks. Exhaustion, excitement and endless questions. Nightlong cuddles and sleep-starved nights. Creating our own destiny, dens and visits to the doctor. Bath times, park walks, tantrums galore and bedtime stories. It’s where I am at my most challenged whilst experiencing the brightest of times.
It has pushed me to my limits and shown me a love that has none.

  In it’s simplest of terms …

  Motherhood to me means …

  EVERYTHING.

  EVERY MUM DESERVES THE RIGHT TO ENJOY MOTHERHOOD

  ‘The world is our stage’ has never rung so true since becoming a mum. Even behind the sanctuary of closed doors at home, I still hear myself talking as if ‘they’ are watching and scoring me on my motherly skills and prowess. (I have no clue who they are.)

  Five years into my role as mummy, I still get to the end of the day and score myself on the performance I’ve managed to pull off that day at being a mum. Did I do all the things on my list which make me feel like I’m a good mum, that I am doing a good enough job? My list covers a multitude of mummy goals which I feel I need to achieve to ensure that my tiny humans have had a well-balanced day and grow into well-balanced, happy and healthy people.

  I continue to do this … daily … and the worst part, apart from the obvious fact of spending my whole day in a blind panic trying to achieve them all, is that I find myself judging myself and deciding whether or not I’ve been a good mum that day, that week, that year!

  I only have to read comments on my blog and Facebook groups to know that there are thousands of us mums putting ourselves under this pressure every single day. Quite literally thousands of mums, whose enjoyment of motherhood is being blighted by feeling judged and feeling guilty that they don’t quite meet the mark. That they are not quite a good enough mum.

  Are you one of them?

  I am.

  Aren’t you exhausted by it all?

  I am.

  Don’t you just want to step off the wheel of judgement and pressure and for once feel 100 per cent content in the knowledge that you are a bloody amazing mum and are doing a fantastic job?