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? 

Body Struggle 

I can deal with the lack of sleep, the guilt of not being a perfect mum and the constant worry that I’m doing it all wrong. What I’m finding most difficult, and yes it’s incredibly vain, but what I can’t come to terms with is how different my body looks.

Before giving birth I was convinced I would be able to bounce back to my pre pregnancy body. I know, I know, SO MANY LOLS RIGHT!? I keep telling myself I’m beautiful still because I’ve made a baby, but it’s hard when you have bin liners full of clothes that you wouldn’t be able to get away with now never mind squeeze into.

I feel robbed. It’s so hard to lose weight when the only enjoyment I have on my own is eating when I’m alone at night. Not enough credit is given to the party diet, just drinking every night and being too sick to even give food a thought. 
It’s so damn unfair that I feel anything but sexy. I hate being naked. I follow every body positivity instagram there is and yet I look at myself in the mirror and want to rip the fat and flab off myself. I mean what the hell is that pocket that insists on making clothes harder to fit!? 

I just want to wear lingerie and jump on my boyfriend without fear of him clawing his eyes out or suffocating him. 

It’s so stupid because I can literally look at every woman and find their unique beauty and appreciate it. Why can’t I do that to myself? I suppose I’m not the only one, so why can’t we give ourselves a bloody break!? We created life! And people can say; “you look beautiful”, “you look amazing”, but I could do with hearing: “Aimee why the fuck are you still in size 14 clothing you fat whore!”. But then I would cry and call that person a cunt behind their back and slag them off to everyone so those people could tell me I’m beautiful.

Anyway, I’ve eaten like 4 packets of crisps tonight, pasta and a mini mars bar with a glass and a half of wine to drown my sorrows. 

I’ll start the diet again tomorrow. (Starving myself and drinking black coffee until I feel so sick I desperately raid the cupboards). 
Stupid vicious circle. 

Welcome To My Struggle

I’m starting a little late with a “mummy blog”. I’ve been busy trying to come to terms with the fact I am actually a mum. Like seriously!? I’m a mum. ME.
I’m only just starting to feel like a real life mum because Edwin is more responsive and he reaches out for me and touches my face and my heart explodes.

Those first months are really trying aren’t they? I just felt like a complete failure, like I was kidding myself to ever think I could actually do this. The cesarean threw me, wasn’t expecting to be cut open and then sent home with a tiny human I’d made and not be able to pick him up or be there for him.

I think I cried everyday. Stalking other mums on my Facebook to check I was normal. But no one else posted about bad stuff, which is totally understandable. But I want to post about the nights you scream into your pillow, and the time you called your baby a dickhead for keeping you up all night , then giving you a smile before sleeping at 7am then crying to yourself because you’re the worst mother in the universe.

I’m Aimee and I’m a first time mum. Welcome to my struggle.