It’s true what they say. Nothing prepares you for being a Mother. But I was determined I was going to be “Perfect Mum”.
Back before my boy came along, just four short years ago, I was prone to making – frankly ridiculous – preachy statements about the way my life was going to be when bump turned into bambino.
For example…I remember saying to someone I’d be cool with the lack of sleep because I regularly stayed out late at the weekends. “How hard can it be,” I thought.
I was also that mum to be who vowed my kid would never get any tablet time, wouldn’t be allowed to just “sit in front of the TV”, wouldn’t get sweets and certainly wouldn’t get dippers for tea.
I would be so awesome as “Perfect Mum” my child would be fluent in 8 languages, piano and chess by 3. Well, maybe 5, but you get the idea.
I was the lady who wrote her detailed birth plan with pride, crafting every sentence about how the process was going to be an amazing experience, akin to a spa day.
Oh seriously, F*** OFF.
Go ahead ladies, roll your eyes.
I’m doing exactly the same thing, cringing at myself as I type. How naïve. Yes, although I wasn’t yet a mum, I was Pretentious Preggers. Yet to be introduced to the world of Mumsville.
Once my glorious, beautiful son appeared, Pretentious Preggers swiftly turned into a slightly more Slummy Mummy.
Those impossible standards which existed only in my head, started to slip.
Come on, they had to, or by now I’d probably be in a mental asylum.
You learn very quickly. It’s sink or swim. All pretentious nonsense disappears along with any thought of a toned lower stomach, or clothes unstained by Weetabix.
When people see you and tell you that you’re looking well, you reply “It’s because I showered and washed my hair today.” Or “Thanks I got three hours sleep last night.”
And you learn other tricks too.
Need to get time to wee? Get Peppa Pig on.
Knackered from a night of soothing a teething child? Bring on the Bing marathon to grab a bit of relaxing time on the couch.
Too tired to play? Try a game of Dr where Mummy lies on the couch as the patient. It’ll buy you up to 10 minutes. Longer if you demand a second opinion and question any diagnosis.
Just need a minute’s peace from hearing your own name whinged relentlessly? Hide in the kitchen and quickly stuff a couple of digestives in your mouth. Pretend it’s Kale if it makes you happier.
Can’t be bothered lovingly preparing a fantastic, healthy and nutritious meal that will NOT be eaten and probably anger an already antsy toddler? Get yer dippers oot.
You’ll have your own dodges. And that’s ok, you don’t have to knacker yourself living up to some ridiculous ideal to be “Perfect Mum”. It’s all bollocks.
Because you know what? I guarantee your kids won’t remember the hours you spent cleaning and hoovering, or cooking or exhausting yourself trying to be perfect.
They WILL remember the cuddles, they WILL remember you took time to snuggle on the couch and watch their favourite show or forgot the pile of dishes to help them park their cars.
They WILL remember you were the one who told them not to be scared of the monsters under the bed and made time to ask and listen about their favourite dinosaur.
You’re not perfect.
But the moments you create are.
Keep creating them Queens, no matter how young or old your babies are.
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