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I’ve just read “that” article in the Daily Mail, giving a darn good thrashing to those of us that expose our parenting and let people in to have a little glimpse at our lives. I don’t know what to say. I agree with one point: Yes, children are a gift but I am not seeing this supposed gin-soaked Hogarthian scene and I am pretty damn sure that the men and women sharing their lives and experiences aren’t currently sat in a piss soaked ally round the back of St.Paul’s effing and jeffing whilst their little ones are left to fend for themselves.
So, why do we write these blogs? Why do we share our experiences predominantly in a comedic way? The short answer is why the hell not. But I think many of us decide to start writing for so many reasons. For example:
Parenting is tougher than you originally thought. You’re suffering from post natal depression or anxiety and writing and sharing is therapeutic and helpful. You started writing to get your brain going again. You wanted to share your experiences with others to see if there is anyone else out there who is going through the same thing.
There are so many reasons. We mostly do it to share, to say to others, “it’s ok”. Modern parenting is tough, especially if you throw work into the mix too. I had to go back to work when my daughter was 3 weeks old. It was only one job but it was still emotionally pretty tough and physically too. Having to express milk that early on was difficult enough as it hadn’t really “come in” yet. As the weeks followed I had to organise filing up the freezer full of plastic bags of booby juice. If one spilt or if one wasn’t used when I was working it was like a massive loss and a kick in the teeth. The work that had gone into that 50ml; wasted. Down the drain. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Going back to work was good for me. I’m very lucky that I am self-employed so could decide when I wanted to work. Well, as long as there was the work to go round. In my game it’s feast or famine.
Anyway, I have been a bit slack on the old blog the last two weeks. I’ve been doing a lot more childcare and that means no time to write. When she naps that’s when the bomb site from lunch (and probably breakfast, oops) is cleared up. Then washing to put out/put in etc etc. You know, all the domestic bollocks that gets in the way of doing exciting things like writing my blog. And thank God for it. I am thoroughly enjoying writing it and I’ve had some jolly nice comments along the way. So ta muchly me bredrin. The past two weeks have been all about the garden office we’re having put in. We’ve had demolition, re-pointing, new fencing and foundations which means a lot of staying in and making tea and coffee in the Sainsbury’s mugs. (Just in case). The sorts of things that make you realise that you might have finally reached adulthood. We seem to have got through a lot of chocolate Hob Nobs as well. The actual building goes in next week and that’s half term so hubby is going to be doing the staying in for that. I’ve not gone to the gym in two weeks so just as the hot weather comes in, I am feeling like a Stilton that has been left out of the fridge too long and has started to slide off the cheese board. Even the vegan diet hasn’t helped me as I’ve been eating too much freakin pasta and not moving my “squidgy bottom” as my Mother in law so kindly called it the other week. The sleep thing is very up and down so I am just tired and a bit “arse in hand” as my Aunty Peggy would say. Small one has yet another cold and we had a Chicken Pox scare but it turned out to be a heat rash. Thank fark for that!
Something that has also cropped up since the second birthday came around is the need to be attached to Mummy like a Koala for most of the day. It can be cute, especially when she puts her arms round my neck and gives me a proper hug but it seems to happen all day. We went to her little friend’s birthday party at the weekend. She wouldn’t let go of Daddy when we first arrived and then when I rocked up after parking the car the koala made a b line for me and held on tight like a bicycle lock. Even when playing pass the parcel she wouldn’t leave my lap so I ended up playing on her behalf and little does she know, I’ve had that game sussed for years. You just have to keep a very sharp eye on the music player and whoever is operating it, listen and hang on to the parcel for a little longer than you should. It’s a bit of an art form as to how you linger but I’m going to pass these valuable skills on to my daughter. That and how to win a sack race: put your feet in the corners and run. And egg and spoon: chewing gum under it. My husband can focus on the numeracy and literacy. I shall focus on the life skills that will get you through. Mostly through a school sports day but nevertheless, indispensable skills. Anyway, having shared with you my most intimate secrets and pieces of advice to help you through life, I must go and soak myself and my child in gin and go and sell my wares on the street or, nay, down the alley. Now, let me have a rummage through the freezer and ‘ave a shufty at what’s for tea….A ha. Good ole C’ptain. Always there when you need him.