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.

When Your Toddler Goes Feral

My son, ninety five percent of the time is a really loving and empathetic child. He loves a cuddle, a big snotty kiss goodbye, a snuggle up on the sofa. He's kind to his animals, he'll kiss you better when you stumble over his train track, he'll share his biscuits when asked. He is by nature, a kind soul.
However, every now and then - every 5% of the time my son goes fucking feral. Maybe he's just too good, reaches his limit and needs to go bat shit crazy to release his inner demons, I don't know.
Case in point, last week when upon Nursery pick up my husband was summoned to sign an Incident Form, because our darling boy had held his best friend in a headlock and wouldn't let go.
Not only did he hold this kid down like Hulk Hogan high on Meth, he then refused to apologise and kept shuffling out of the 'quiet corner' where he been put to consider what he'd done.

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”.