Why I'm Redefining Having It All

This post was originally featured on Littles Magazine.

The concept of having it all, is in my opinion a strange one. It's the idea that the woman, the Mother should strive to have an excellent career and a contented family life and that these things should exist in harmonious balance with one another. It's the idea that this is what all women want or at least should want, because its now (apparently) all available to us.

Ugh. How patronising.

I'm a full time working mother of one, with a husband who also works full time and co-parents with me in equal measures. Whilst I am not particularly qualified or financially well off, I would go as far as to call my vocation a career because it is specialised and I've been working on it for a long time.
Sounds like I've got it sorted doesn't it? Well some days I do, some days we get up, we get ready, I've made lunches the night before and everyone has clean underwear. Some days the toddler fully co-operates, he actually brushes his teeth and he lets us dress him without kicking Daddy in the balls. He's excited to see his Nanny or his friend Lily at nursery and he's bowling out the door with a huge grin on his face. On these days I've straightened my hair, I'm on time, I'm wearing that dress with the little brown belt and there are no ladders in my tights. These are the days that I, by definition look like I 'have it all'.

When Your Toddler Holds You Hostage In Superdrug

Sometimes I forget that I'm still a first time parent. I feel like I've been a Mum for a while, its not all shiny and new and I should just know the answers by now. I mean you get all that when you have a new born, that feeling of not knowing what you're doing, not knowing how to hold them without their head falling off. Unsure of the normal temperature, the normal colour of poo, the normal amount of crying. You're supposed to not know when they are new and you are new at being a parent, its expected, its accepted. Its ok to hold your hands up and say 'Sorry I'm new at this, I don't really know what I'm doing!'. 
Trouble is, I'm not really sure I can do that now my first baby is a new toddler. I mean I'm more confident with my parenting skills than I was in those first few months, his needs are easier to read, mostly because they are being screamed at me from across the supermarket. I can assess the right temperature because I've realised that its either just too fucking hot or too fucking cold, it doesn't matter if you're nine months old or ninety. I don't worry about the colour of poo, I no longer phone my Mum about it. Two and half years in, I've seen it all or at least please God, I hope I have. Its been on my hands, in my hair, on the carpet, there's nothing in the poo department that can worry me now. We've kept him alive and reasonably well behaved, we used to congratulate ourselves on what a 'good baby' he was.

Then three weeks ago, he held me hostage in Superdrug.

There's Too Much Fucking Swearing On This Blog

Its fair to say that there's a lot of swearing on this blog. None of it is particularly offensive in an aggressive sense, its all intended as tongue in cheek humour but I cannot deny that the profanity word count is pretty high. I'd never really considered it until recently, I'm pretty free and liberal with how I write, in that I write how I like and if I like it then I keep it. I don't write for other people, I write for myself and I've found it very therapeutic, cathartic even. I just start tapping away and if a 'shit' or a 'fuck' contributes to the giggles or exasperates my tone I go with it. Particularly if you're writing about something that pisses you off, I've found a couple of 'bastards' and 'arseholes' really help get your point across. Of course I'm thrilled to bits to discover that people actually read my nonsense and even if it is just mostly my Mum (hi mum!), I've enjoyed that I've made people laugh and engaged with them on a certain topic or event in my life. I've had some cracking comments and direct messages, many full of obscenities and 'Fuck Yes!' moments. I've laughed my arse off at some of the feedback I had on that tit post, apparently it is a real issue affecting mothers globally - not just me!

Mothering The Shit Out Of Life

Towards the end of last year I got pretty bogged down with all the things I had to do, the things I did do and things that were never going to get done. My mind became increasingly cluttered and stressed and over burdened by the demands of work, housework, my son, my husband and everything else that goes with it. There was always hoovering to do, always emails to respond to, always a dinner to cook. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with myself and my inability to get everything done. Everyone elses houses are always tidy, why was ours never ever tidy? We're never even here for fucks sake. At one point I was actually getting up in the middle of the night to hang up washing so it would dry in time. I would voluntarily opt out on reading my son a bedtime story, so that I could get dinner started so we wouldn't be eating at 9 o'clock again. I was giving a little of myself to everything, meaning nothing got my full attention, nothing truly ever got done or finished and well, I was fucking failing at everything.

Grandparent Guilt

Three days a week Finley spends his day with his two sets of Grandparents. We drop him off in the morning and pick him after tea but he spends his whole day with them, all day long for about ten hours. This is because we both have to work full time and we are seriously lucky to have two sets of parents who can step in and help us in this way. I know there are a lot of people out there who don't have the help that we do and we are aware of how fortunate we are in this regard. 

However, I do think that society wants me to feel bad about this set up. In that I should feel guilty for abandoning my child, burdening our parents and skipping off to work without a care in the world. I get this vibe from the media, from other parents and from people who comment about how much time my son spends at my Mum and Dads house. The implication of course, is that our parents shouldn't have to raise their children's children. 

Well no, they shouldn't.

Goodbye Little Nursery

Today is Finley’s last day at little nursery because next week he’s moving up to the Toddler Unit.
And to be honest this really sucks because the toddler unit is across the other side of the village, so to him it’s like a whole new nursery in a whole new place. It also means that he won’t be with my sister anymore and I have to fully trust the care of my baby to people I don’t really know.
I’m finding this transition difficult and Finley is finding it fucking horrendous. I know this because he throws a shit fit every time he steps foot in the place.

Well he doesn’t actually set foot there at all because he’s already sprung half way up my leg like a spider monkey, sobbing “no,no, ‘uddle Mummy, ‘uddle Mummy”.