So. Everyone has that one friend that everything happens to, you know, trousers split down the butt in a public place, bird shits on their head, baby has a poonami when they forgot to take a spare set of clothes out. Well yeah, that’s me! I’m “THAT” friend. I often think my friends keep me in their circle cause when stuff is happening to me, it isn’t happening to them. Effortlessly I keep those around me amused day in, day out.
That’s how my blog began. Back in August 2015, just before my eldest (Olly) started school. I had once again endeavoured to be “SuperMom” for the day and it just royally back fired in my face. So I found myself with 3 options…
- Get absolutely shit faced and forget the day even happened
- Find the nearest therapist and pour my heart out as a failing mother
- Write about it like I’m chatting to an imaginary friend, maybe someone, somewhere might sympathise with me.
I opted for 3. I was breast feeding with no banked liquid gold AND a baby that refused a teat plus, I was on statutory maternity pay and I hear councillors are pricey, particularly out of hours! So there in my living room, on my crappy old laptop, Momma. Olly. Nancy. Molly was born.
Typically, my writing style is humorous, I’m pretty much of the mentality of “If you don’t laugh, you cry” but I thought I would take this opportunity to open up a little more.
I’m Momma to Olly (6) Nancy (2.5) and my eldest, Molly dog (10).
I haven’t found motherhood quite the walk in the park I imagined. Preconception and reality are a million miles apart and the spectrum that is motherhood feels greater than the universe! From the super glam MILF’s to the slummy mummies, where I thought I’d place on the spectrum to where I’ve actually found myself couldn’t be more different.
Pre-Olly I was a size 7; 10 at a push and always thought I was soooooooooo fat! I was always well turned out, I had my hair done every 6 weeks, nails every 3, went to the gym. I was appearance proud and would never leave the house without my face on or hair done (unless sporting a hangover) you may have called me vain!
Prior to kids, my sisters had filled my head with ludicrous ideas that I would sport the tiniest bump, keep my waist line and glow the whole way through my pregnancy/ies.
What. A. Crock. Of. Shit!!!
Thanks to them I had it in my head that the pregnancy “glow” would radiate from me. I’d be wearing my 7 for all mankind skinny jeans until about 30 weeks, fitting snuggly under my bump. Then I would replace them with some Topshop skinny’s with an elasticated waist band. My hair would be lustrous and bounce for days as it thickened before the anticipated hair loss. Pregnancy WOULD suit me!
I’m literally PMSL as I type this; the deluded visions that went through my mind. In fact at 12 weeks I was already showing. Being a dance and cheerleading coach, my staple wardrobe was a pair of sports leggings and vest, not a forgiving or secret bearing combination.
I found pregnancy REALLY hard. I did NOT glow. I did NOT bloom. I found it hard doing my job. I was an unspotty version of Mr Blobby.
But I was carrying the greatest gift of all.
If not feeling my best wasn’t enough, there was then people in general. Stupid people, their opinions and their stupid questions… And their shock at the answers I gave.
From 12-20 weeks I would often get asked if I knew what I was having, probably because I looked further along than I was! I would answer no and wait for the follow up question asking if I had a preference. I would answer that I’d quite like a girl. Said person would be disgusted and couldn’t believe I’d answered the question. Why chuffing ask it then?!? Honestly! And then if I moaned about pregnancy (granted it was a lot) I would get people muttering about how I should be grateful! Of course I was grateful, I just didn’t enjoy pregnancy.
At 20 weeks we found out Olly was a boy and we were ecstatic. He was healthy and perfect. We felt blessed that our first born would be a boy and hopefully a big brother one day.
After what can only be described as a shit personal journey through pregnancy along came Olly Bear; easiest quick birth, no drugs and the most beautiful constipated raisin that I had ever seen. We were smitten.
But with the birth of Olly came the birth of bat shit crazy me. Something I wasn’t prepared for. The glamourous mother I believed I was destined to be was merely a fictional character I’d created. Breast feeding didn’t help me lose the 4st of baby weight! My make-up bag and straighteners became redundant and I was stuck with nothing to wear because nothing fit me. Maternity clothes were too big and my normal clothes far too small. I just didn’t feel like me at all.
My teeth became my favourite asset because they hadn’t gained weight!!!!!
I became reclusive. I didn’t think I had PND because I loved the constipated raisin unconditionally! But after 18 months I realised the nut job I’d become trapped in my own head was struggling a lot mentally.
I slid right down the spectrum to new realms of depressiveness.
I had lost my identity. I was so excited to be someone’s mummy but wasn’t ready to lose who I had been for the previous 28 years. And that’s how it felt; I couldn’t be both.
Fast forward 6 years and there’s now 2 of them. Oliver and Nancy – yep, like the musical!!! They are the muse behind my writing, they keep me proud and embarrassed in equal measures! And never leave me short of writing material. There’s also my husband; Steve. Selfish Steve, Sensible Steve, Single child Steve! So much writing material, zero permission given! He is a “professional”!
He’s accepted I’ll never be the perfect mum from the parenting books; take the hand you’re dealt hubs & be grateful!
A Guest Blog from Rae Haines
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