Everyday Struggle 

Everyday Struggle
You wake up feeling like you’ve had no sleep.

You bring your baby downstairs and feed them breakfast while nursing a brew already thinking how you can keep them entertained for another day.

You have hardly any money to do anything, and it’s pissing it down and the daunting day in the house dawns on you.

You try every toy, every silly face, every song and every silly dance to make them smile and laugh, but soon they’re moaning and crying again.

It’s frustrating for both of you.

They’re growing so fast and their almost new toys are boring, they’ve grown out of their jumperoo which was once the saviour and there’s not enough room in the house for them to potter about in the walker.

You hold them up and walk around supporting them which they enjoy, but it hurts your back and before long you have to sit them down again, which is when the moaning starts again.

The house is a mess, the pots are in the sink, the dusting and hoovering desperately needs doing.

You try to keep it together and stay positive for your baby.

You don’t want them to see you cry but you feel like a failure.

Why can’t I entertain my own baby? 

Are they bored of me?

What am I doing wrong?

Why can’t they crawl yet?

That’s why they’re so frustrated, but the more you try to encourage it the less they seem to try.

The day is so long and it’s not even the afternoon.

But you know you have to make it through.

Everyone else seems to be doing fine.

Soon bedtime will come around, and you’ll give them their last feed, everything will be calm and you’ll look into each other’s eyes and feel a connection like no other.

You know tomorrow will be just as hard, but in that moment everything is perfect and you struggle to remember why is was so bad today.
We have such a tough job, being the sole caregiver for our babies. It’s so demanding and takes every bit of our energy and emotions.
It’s a lifetime job that we’ll moan about and cry about, but the love we feel is indescribable. So we carry on, hoping that they’ll turn out okay and they’ll finally say “I love you” back. 
I’m struggling today, and that’s okay.

Teething Struggle

5am wake up call. Teething 7 month old. Coil checkup. Day 4 of eating healthy… This is not the best combination.

I’m feeling like an absolute hero right now. Call me super mum. He’s finally asleep. I’m so glad that Pete was home or I might have spent the day silently sobbing and eating the whole pack of spirals in the cupboard and all the cheese in the fridge.

It’s better then when he was a few months old and teething, when he would just scream for hours at a time and I’d be stuck relentlessly dancing around my house pretending I was in strictly and feeling I was in hell. I was always scared I was going to OD him on Calpol, teething powders and Anbesol liquid. Now I don’t give it a second thought and dose him right up. Although, now when he’s in pain he won’t let me hold and rock him. I can’t hold him at all without him flinging himself backwards, to which I always panic I’m going to drop him because he’s an absolute tank.

Who knew a 7 month old could throw a paddy!? Like, I thought this happened at the “terrible 2” age, but nope, Edwin has gotten in there early. If I move the remote out the way, if I move my phone out of his reach, if I have he audacity to smile at him when he’s playing alone or sing to him. So now I watch whatever Edwin has put on the TV, and my phone is constantly covered in baby dribble. 

Luckily, I didn’t have to take him into the nurses room with me to get my coil checked today. Unlike when I had it fitted when he was in the pram next to the bed I was laid on, my legs spread open, and Edwin decided to cry, so im singing “you are my sunshine” while a nurse is all up in my vag. Oh and during which, when her fingers were fully roaming around she told me I had a “long vagina”. Lovely.

The day didn’t get easier when I got home and started to crash. Healthy eating is not good for you when you have a baby who needs you to be constantly weird and fun and literally a CBeebies presenter. In my desperation I got into bed with him and sang “twinkle twinkle little star”, while screaming in my head “please sleep you beautiful horrible little twat”, obviously this failed miserably so we went back downstairs and played with my phone. Which is why I have allowed myself, for the sake of being the best parent I can be for my child tomorrow, to eat all the carbs. All of them. Did you know beer is a carb? It’s the wheat. So we need it in order to entertain our beautiful and demanding children. 

Only another few years of teething though and then I’ll not have to deal with a whiny, devil child again, right?

Juggling It All Struggle

It just gets too much sometimes.

It hits me out of nowhere and I just want to fall to the floor and cry at the unfairness of it all. 

I’m so fed up of cleaning the house every fucking day for it to still be a shit hole.

I’m so fed up of doing loads upon loads of washing.

I’m so fed up of having to be a bloody Disney character for the majority of the day.

I’m so fed up of constantly worrying that I’m doing it all right. 

I’m so fed up of feeling guilty as shit for even thinking about spending time away or going somewhere without having to think about someone else.

I’m so fed up of waiting for a better future, a nicer place to live and a better environment for my family.

I’m so fed up of worrying that I’m being a good mother and a good partner simultaneously. Trying to be the perfect mum but also not lose myself and still be young and fun and alive.

Why are the days so long but the months so short?

Why, when I feel like I’m finally owning this partening shit does it all come crashing down and I suddenly feel like a failure in every aspect of myself?

I know this will pass. I know after I’ve written this I’ll feel the weight lift and be able to breathe again.

But fuck me this is hard. Isn’t it? 

Post Pregnancy Pants Struggle

I don’t really have anything to rant about this week. Pete has been off so it’s been an absolute dream after doing this parenting thing on my own Monday – Friday for the past 4 months!!

This in turn has made Edwin like the happiest baby ever – erm I’ll try not to take it personally that he’s difficult when it’s only me and him. 

Today I thought I’d get some new underwear. I thought it was time to ditch the 2x 5 pack of HUGE black pants which go up to my boobs which my mum got me after my cesarean. Also the nursing bras which didn’t serve their purpose because I couldn’t deal with the pain of breastfeeding which I’ll forever regret, but that’s a different story for another post.

ANYWAY. Got all this beaut underwear, some matching and everything all size “L” to be on the safe side, only to get home and try them on and find the big granny pants were fooling me into thinking I was ready for nice kickers cause my overhang is fucking repulsive. 

So now I’m sat watching a documentary on Fred and Rose west, drinking beer and eating giant packets of crisps because I literally couldn’t give a shit. I read somewhere is takes women’s bodies up to 3 years to recover from pregnancy and labour anyway so I have that long to get rid of it! No rush :).