The Horror!

There have been a lot of movies over the course of time, that have starred children. Sometimes the kids are used in these movies to send chills down your spine such as the twins in The Shinning (1980) and Children of the Corn (1984). Sometimes these kid characters are there to act as homes for evil spirits such as those in The Exorcist and The Omen. These are the movies where you kind of feel sorry for the children, even if they did murder their dog. However, other times these kids play a detrimental role in the movie. Their aim is to hurt, trap or kill the adult cast. The Orphan (2009), Hard Candy (2005) and Insidious (2010) spring to my mind when I think about how truly disturbing kids have the potential to be.

After watching these movies and considering those characters, I look at my own children and think “But how could they ever do such a thing?” whilst tilting my head to the side with a “I’m so blessed” expression plastered on my face. Because children are inherently innocent, inquisitive and beautiful creatures. Right?

kids

If you read that and sweetly nodded your head, then you have never been woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a toddler standing quietly and patiently an inch from your face.

Because this has been happening to me for a few months now (sporadically, which makes it worse) and I can completely understand why horror filmmakers choose children as the stories antihero. Have you seen what a child looks like at 3 in the morning, quietly standing there with their dummy in their mouth, ‘blanky’ hanging from their hands and only the soft sounds of their breath filtering through the room. The way the tiny amount of light floating in from somewhere else in the house only highlights a small fraction of their facial features, making their eyes dark and their mouth appear in an evil smirk. It is positively demonic.

ScaryKid

The amount of times I have woken completely startled to the point of panic because my son is standing mere centimetres away from me as I sleep is getting out of control. How long was he standing there? What sinister thoughts is he thinking as I lay there completely unaware of his intentions? Does he want to murder me? He could pick up the axe that is next to the bed (burglars beware), open it up and bring it down on my skull and I would have no chance of survival.

Because who the heck knows what is going through a child’s mind right?!? Ill be giving A extra biscuits tonight so I don’t wake up with an amputated appendage…

Nup


Very Near and Very Distant

It is all very near and very distant

I read this the other day and thought it adequately summed up my experience with motherhood.

 

I remember the moment I went into labour with Archer. I woke up from my sleep around 4 in the morning with the startling realisation of “This is it”. A mere 16 or so hours later, out came little Archer.

 

Flynn’s labour was eerily similar. I woke up at 330 (on the morning of my birthday) to bad cramp like pains. But this time, I knew straight away what was happening. Before heading into the labour ward, I distinctly remember finding myself walking the aisles of Woolworths around the corner from the hospital looking for snacks to take with me. I would make it halfway down each aisle, contract, then walk the rest of the aisle before contracting again. I then thought it would be nice to get a coffee at the Coffee Club, where I spent the time wriggling around uncomfortably on the pleather couch trying to cope with the intermittent pains.

 

After giving birth to Archer, I remember finally being alone in the room with him. He was in the clear bassinet staring straight at me and me back at him. I remember thinking to myself “Pregnancy ends with a real life baby?!? How did I not know this”.

 

What I remember even more distinctly, is how I felt in the weeks after giving birth to both boys. I remember feeling anxious, trapped, scared, emotional and tired. I remember my struggle with the guilt with turning to formula for Archer and the many late nights and early morning breastfeeds with Flynn as my nipples struggled to stay attached to my sore and swollen boobs. I felt overwhelmed. I remember when each babe reached a month old, I felt better adjusted and was brave enough to leave the house. I remember all of those feelings as if they were yesterday.

 

As I hold my children in the present day, what I don’t remember is the feel of their small 50-ish cm bodies curled into my chest. I don’t remember the smell of their newborn hair or the sound of their cries. I don’t remember the sound of Flynn’s floppy larynx that kept me awake as he slept or the coos they made when they were happy. Now, during a rare embrace, I look down at Archers long legs and think ‘When did he grow so big?’. I listen to Flynn ask me “where’s nanna and pa?” and think ‘When did you learn to talk?’.

 

Being a parent is an even mix of wishing the harder days to end and in the next breath wondering where the time went. There is huge difference between the difficult moments and the good times. People aren’t lying when they say that being a mother is the hardest job you will ever have. And sometimes it isn’t for the reasons you think.

 

You seem to hold on tighter to those moments where you feel less than adequate or guilty for not doing a good enough job and never give yourself enough praise for when you really are surpassing all expectations you ever held for yourself as a parent. You spend too much time kicking yourself for the things you may have done ‘wrong’ and not enough time looking at your thriving kids and say ‘yep, I’m an awesome mum’.

 

Overall it is a weird sensation watching your kids grow. Now that my boys are 3 and 18 months, I can no longer say I have a toddler and a baby. Somewhere along the way my children grew from babies to toddlers to boys. It feels like only yesterday I was staring at my first born through the transparent bassinet and now he is a robust 3 year old boy who is currently in the ‘thinking’ chair for not following my instructions. When did they grow from blobs to intelligent and independent kids? As the time has passed, the harder times I have experienced have faded from memory and I feel myself yearning for them to stay lovingly dependent on me forever. But I know this won’t happen. I am sure that mothers both young and old will nod their head when I say this, but motherhood completely defines the saying ‘the days are long and the years are short’.

 

So what should you do? Enjoy every moment with your children as they grow and give yourself a break – you are doing a great job.


Time After Time

Since becoming a mother, I have found that the concept of ‘time’ has dramatically changed. More often than not, I have found there is no longer a happy medium when it comes to time and I am often left resenting it entirely.

I think when we decided to add another child into our family, time then changed again.

Through the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months, I constantly cycle through the same thoughts that I honestly didn’t think I would ever be caught dead saying:

  • I never have enough hours in the day
  • Where did the day go
  • I was meant to do x, y and x today but time got away from me
  • Flynn is 18 months, how did that happen?
  • I spent almost three hours in the kitchen today making food
  • Am I really 27? What have I done for the past 3 years?
  • I really need to factor in some me time during the day (insert blank face emoji who already knows this will not happen)

 

Time has become that homemade boat I spent hours making before testing it on the ‘river’ speeding quickly down the gutters after a major drop of rain. I smile broadly as I watch it speeding past before seeing it disappear down the storm water drain for good. I palm my head in frustration knowing I should have attached a string to the hull (is that the back of the boat?) to prolong the experience, attempted to catch it before it fell into the abyss or at the very least, video taped the whole thing so I could at least re-watch a few times to compensate for all my efforts.

 

This idea of time has been occupying my thoughts more often than not lately.

What I have come to realise, is that I have spent a lot of time blaming time – blaming it for being so cruel in its consistency and its blatant refusal to slow down. Instead I should have been accepting that with this ‘change’ in time comes the simple fact that I too need to change and adapt. I need to spend more time prioritising and being smart in how I want to spend my time and making it count for something.

 

As much as I hate to admit when I am wrong, I have had to remind myself that time is not speeding up to punish me – I have the exact same amount of time in my day as I did when I was 18. It just seems like I have less of it and that I don’t have any to myself because I am managing the survival of two other beings, as well as myself, every single minute of every single day. Up until this point I have been selfish in thinking that my time belongs to me, because it doesn’t.

 

So the challenge I have set myself going forward is to move away from saying ‘time hasn’t given me enough hours today’, to instead just making things happen. Rome wasn’t built in a day (hey hey Hey!) and if I want time to do things, then I need to find it and use it properly (and not to get lost in the time warp that is social media every spare moment I get).

 

Slowly but surely, as time moves forward, my children will become less dependent and more like ‘chore-doing’ little trolls who don’t need me to wipe their bums or brush their teeth or make their dinners. One day in the near future I will be saying to myself ‘how many days until I can see my sons again’, or ‘how many months are they away in Europe for’ and I will get the time I so desperately want now that will seem so much less important then. Because, life is a contradiction like that isn’t it?

 

You always want what you can’t have and you need to make your time count for something right now because that is what life is about – making your time on this earth and in these moments count.


What Is Your Mum Fantasy?

I watched Bad Moms last night and there was a scene where the three main characters were seated at the bar. They were drinking and discussing their mum fantasy – their dream for a perfect day that had nothing to do with being a mum.

And it got me thinking – what is my mum fantasy?

So many ideas popped into my mind – whole days spent in bed not moving an inch, sitting in a pool with a cocktail, sitting in a hammock surrounded by donuts that are all within arms reach. So many possibilities. But what is my ultimate mum fantasy.

And I have finally decided…

It would be a cool rainy day making it darker than usual in the morning. I would wake any time after the hour of 7 am. I would lie in bed looking at my phone until I decided to get out of bed. The house would be completely empty – no dogs, no fiancé and no kids. There would be a deliciously hot latte waiting for me next to a plate of bacon, eggs, haloumi and sourdough toast. I would eat this while reading a magazine or newspaper… or both if I am feeling dangerous. I would then have a long hot shower. I might even sit down for a little bit. I would then slowly get dressed, trying on multiple outfits until I was happy with what I was wearing.

I would then jump into my car and head to Westfield. I would put my extremely lightweight handbag over my shoulder and stride into the air-conditioned centre. I would find a nice coffee shop and enjoy another coffee and a little pastry because in my fantasy, there is no such thing as a mummy tummy. I would sit there until I felt like I was ready to get up – no screaming kids determining when I should leave my half-drunk coffee. When I was ready, I would simply rise from my seat and walk.No picking up random bits of food off the floor or wiping down goodbers off the table. Just rise, and walk. Bliss!

I would then go to Seed. I would spend as long as I liked in the change room making sure I chose coordinated pieces. I would choose accessories, bags and shoes. I would then put the purchases on my never ending debit card. I would then head to a massage parlour and get a head massage, followed by a manicure and pedicure at the nearest nail salon. I would then stroll slowly to the cinemas, chose the cheesiest chick flick, pick my gold class seat and then go on to buy a large popcorn, a pink slurpee and a family size packet of maltesers (no mummy tummy remember!).I would watch the movie from start to finish and not move the entire length of the film.

Shortly after the movie finishes, I would go to sushi train, say ‘table for one’ and slot into a seat straight away – no wait time. I would then take my seed purchases and go to the car. I would drive home blaring my expletive song choices. I would then walk into the house, my clothes would miraculously have hung themselves and a bath, with all my favourite Lush products, would already be filled and waiting for me. I would sit in it for close to an hour reading an Alex Cross novel. I would then hop out, get dressed in my pajamas and eat pad thai on the couch watching Criminal Minds episodes back to back. I might also eat some Nutella straight-out-the-tub. Who am I kidding? I would definitely eat Nutella straight out the tub.

I would then go to sleep whilst the cleaning fairies did my chose. I wouldn’t wake until the following morning. No interruptions-no waking to babes or snoring or dogs needing to pee. Just a good old teenage-tara sleep.

Would love to hear your mum fantasy

 


If You Don’t Get Here Right Now…

Motherhood has turned me into someone I didn’t want to be. You know, the mum who yells empty threats across the shop in a last ditch effort to get her ill-behaved toddler to do as he is told. The mum who, instead of offering reasonable, well thought out forms of punishment, clutches at straws and just says whatever pops into her head – usually something she instantly knows she will never follow through with. Chucking out all the toys? Please. That is like 100’s of dollars wasted.

Anyway, the amount of poop I seem to be speaking at the moment has hit its peak. Archer is in the middle of a Terrible Two ‘period’ (because having a bad ‘moment’ was sooo last month) which means I am pumping out threats left, right and centre. My usual ones are getting boring so I have to get creative.

Where has this left me? Sounding like my parents. And we all know how terrible that is.

Here are some of my winners. Not. But enjoy and have a laugh.

NB: They are all said with desperate-pleady-mum face which looks a little like this:

cryface.jpg

“If you don’t stop doing that, there will be no Tiny Teddy’s for afternoon tea”

“That’s it, no more Tarzan for you”

“If you don’t stop doing that, you will get a big smack”

“If you don’t say sorry to your brother, I will throw out all your toys”

“If you don’t come here right now, there will be no more fun today.”

“Do you want a smack? Then stop. doing. that.”

“Thats it, to your chair…NOW”

“If you talk back to mum one more time, you will spend the rest of your day in your room”

“I will give you five seconds to come here right now. Five…four….three… two… ARCHER! That’s it!”

“You either eat your vegetables, or you go to bed”

“Say sorry, or I will lock all your superheroes in the cupboard”

“If you don’t eat your lunch, I will give all your cars to the boy across the road”

 


Be Accountable [*RANT*]

From a young age, I was always taught that everybody is different. From my kindergarten class to my senior school years, individuality was celebrated. I was encouraged to voice my opinions but also accept those that shared ideals different to my own. I was told to celebrate differences and learn from the beliefs and concerns of others especially when they differed from my own. I was taught never to demean or belittle someone who had an thought differently to me, because I could always learn more from them.

I am certain I was not the only one taught this growing up. Right?

Because these days, something seems to happen between those younger years and entering adulthood. I don’t know whether it is arrogance, our ability to become ‘invisible’ via social media or an actual shift in society’s ideals, but the idea that others are actually allowed to have opinions different to our own, is suddenly something we take offence to.

For a long while I have just passed it off as ‘the Australian way’. The Australian Way being that there is a fine line between being loved and applauded by the Australian audience and being chewed up and spat out for being too opinionated, too arrogant and therefore too annoying. I should mentioned that this line also happens to be an impossibly thin one. I am talking, one tiny filament of a string thin meaning it is very hard to successfully tread. I have seen celebrities, TV personalities and media types praised and encouraged for their individuality, talents and opinions and in the very next moment they have being callously torn down by those same, previously adoring crowds. I have always seen this as just what Australians do. We seem to love to build people up, but when we feel they get too high or successful, we quickly tear them down and claim we are ‘keeping them grounded’. But I am no longer buying it. I think by offering the “Australian Way” as a reason, it gives the public an excuse instead of making them accountable.

Since becoming a mother, I have taken a big interest in blogging and especially those bloggers who write about motherhood. Two of them in particular being Constance Hall of Queens of Constance and Mel Watts of The Modern Mumma. I have watched these two mums be rallied around by a big following of mothers and parents and continuously praised for their honesty, opinions and voicing their beliefs. But in recent months, I have also seen them be spectacularly torn down and squashed by the same followers. It made my blood boil.

Now, before I continue I want to point out the obvious. Yes these women have chosen to write, voice, record and video their lives and opinions. Making the choice to do this is not in any way narcissistic, but rather to create and build a platform. This platform is to ensure that no one feels alone in their triumphs and losses when it comes to birthing and raising children. They are there to make others feel less embarrassed, less isolated and also to help them laugh a little when nothing else seems to work. Before this, what did we have? Midwives, health workers, doctors, our friends and family telling us one thing or another and if that wasn’t what was happening to us, or that advice wasn’t fixing the problem, mothers were often left feeling lonely, like they were struggling or failing. This platform opens its arms and gives us a virtual hug when we need it and a high five when its due. They have opened my eyes and in many cases, opened up conversations I might have otherwise been too nervous or embarrassed to have.

On the other hand, the downside of them being so honest and open with their life and opinions is that they leave themselves exposed.

Now I would like to bring you back to the education I received as a child – that a difference in opinion is to be celebrated, accepted and should be used to educate ourselves on peoples invidiaulity. There have been many times that these two women, and other bloggers, have written about things that I don’t agree with. Sometimes I shake my head and just say “NUP” as I read. But I accept that whatever their opinion, thought and activity is, it is theirs, it works for them (and probably 1000s of others) and that’s that. Full stop. I MOVE ON. Both them and their families are happy, healthy and are functioning well. We differ in our opinions yet us and our families are both better than ok.

What I don’t understand is why people need to go out of their way to make women like Mel and Constance feel bad for their choices. They literally stop, calculate a purposefully nasty reponse and despite being given time to re-think their decision, they still go ahead and think it’s the right thing to do. It seems like that these awful people who write these nasty comments think that if they don’t try and bring that person down for doing or thinking differently to them, their computer or phone will surely blow up in their face and they will burn to death. That is the only legitimate reason for them making such horrible remarks.

Why do people feel like they have to tear others down? Do they think that what they are saying is right? That they are being nice? Do they walk away feeling better about themselves? I’m actually really interested in how people justify why they do it.

Well, in all my infinite wisdom, I have news for you: For all you haters and trolls who go out of your way to make someone feel bad for their parenting or life choices – you are simply being a d*ck. Now, you might come back and say to me “But right now you are going out of your way to be mean…” Well actually, no I am not. I am being honest. Stating a fact.

In the words of Nikki Gogan (Bachelor, 2016) “..blowing out someone else’s candle does not make yours burn brighter”. This my new philosophy. Because it is true.

You posting/typing/saying your nasty, well thought out response that outlines your disdain or disagreement is not going to change that persons mind. It is not going to make them suddenly realise “Now why didn’t I think of that!?”. We are humans with history who live our lives in a way that is shaped by the experiences and lessons learnt from our pasts. You taking a stab at them is not going to change years of experience, thought processes and life lessons.

I am all for freedom of speech. But I am also all for being a good and kind person who considers the weight that said ‘speech’ might have on those receiving it.

So people of Australia, social media, the world, just stop. Scroll on. Be accountable for the effect your words and actions might have on someones opinion of themselves. Spend the time it would have taken you to come up with that ahmazzzing response and do something nice with it. I dare you.

If you made it to the end… soz, it was a long one.

 

xx

 



The Plastics

Becoming a mum has been the best thing I have ever done. Not only do I get to raise two of the coolest kids I have ever met (bias), but it has also taught me to be a more understanding and patient person.

However, there is one thing that I did not expect when joining the exclusive ‘mum club’ – that it would often resemble The Plastics.
If you aren’t aware of these so called ‘Plastics’ then you need to watch Mean Girls (you will not regret it). But in a nutshell, The Plastics are an exclusive group of girls who ‘rule the school’. They dictate style and behaviour as well as the does and the don’ts. Essentially they set what is considered right and wrong and everyone must follow. If they don’t like you or you don’t follow their ‘rules’, you end up being ostracised or in the burn book.
I’m sad to say that the longer I have been a mum, the more the mum club reminds me of the Plastics.
I read a very sad Instagram post written by a very kind, caring and nothing but helpful mum who divulged that she was publicly shamed, by another mother, for her parenting choices. Said mum actually pointed her finger directly at her and publicly judged her. Erm… What?
When I read this, I definitely angry-whispered some expletives and went on a rant to my fiancé, who by the end resembled someone in a vegetative state he was that un-interested. Talking to him was not cathartic, which is why I am bringing it up now. [Warning: It’s a long one].
Some mothers (not all) should be ashamed of themselves. Especially those who use their social media to publicly put down another mothers.
MOTHERHOOD IS MOTHER EFFING HARD.
But do you now what it is even harder than the hardest moments of motherhood? Being put down by other mothers.
Mum guilt is the number one confidence squasher when you become a mother. You are consistently second, triple and quadruple guessing your decisions when you are a mum. It is rare you can be completely confident that the decision you are making is right, but you make the choice that is best for you and your kids. Do you know what is even harder than that? Having someone else negatively comment on your choices. What gives anyone the right?
I would never breastfeed my son until 25 months old? Way too long.
Breast is best….
but never in a public arena. 
Co-sleeping? You are creating clingy children with separation anxiety.
(Gasp!) How dare you feed your children that disgusting, toxic store bought baby food that has passed all health regulation tests and is a thousand times healthier than that dominoes pizza I ordered last night? Don’t you know you should be hand picking your organic vegetables and making your baby fresh food daily. 
Don’t you know your nappy consumption is completely destroying your environment. 
Who has time to poop-scoop, clean and wash cloth nappies. 
Stay at home mum? What do you do all day?
Working mum? Why have children at all?
Day care once a week and you don’t work? Lazy.
Putting your children’s face on social media! You are asking for trouble.
Your kid walks around in a child restraint! How gastly. 
Just chuck your three year old on the toilet – he should not be wearing nappies any more. 
I could go on by quiet frankly I am exhausted thinking about all the terrible things mothers say to each other. It makes me feel sick to think that after labour, sleepless nights and putting our children’s needs ahead of everything else in our lives, we cannot just keep our opinions to ourselves and be happy for all the other mothers, who like us, are doing the hard yards it requires to raise children in today’s society.
You know that saying, “don’t throw stones in a glass house”? We need to all live by it since:
NO ONE IS PERFECT!!!!!! There is no single right way to raise a child. There is just the way you raise your child. You do not have the right to make someone else feel bad about their choices simply because you are incapable of keeping your thoughts to yourselves.
To all those mothers who find it absolutely necessary to point out to another mother what they ‘feel’ is so wrong about their parenting choices, think about this
  • is their child smiling?
  • is their child happy?
  • is their child having fun?
  • is their child loved unconditionally?

The answer is most likely yes to all of these questions, so quiet simply, SHUT THE HELL UP.

Mothers are amazing creatures. Just the other day during an exercise class, my fitness teacher was bouncing her baby in a carrier whilst joining in on squats whilst shouting words of encouragement whilst happily answering her four year old daughters questions. Mothers are amazing creatures. We are under the pump 24/7 with our mind being pulled in a thousand different directions. Not only by our children and family’s needs, but also by our own harsh scrutiny. We don’t need external opinions and negative off hand comments to drag us down or add to the weight of our already existent mum guilt.

We need to build each other up, support each other and accept that some women choose to raise their children differently to us. Whatever your comment or opinion, chances are that mother already knows and therefore doesn’t need your input. Especially during a period where post-natal depression is often more likely than not.

I am so sick of feeling like I am in a high school governed by the ridiculous rules of The Plastics. I don’t need your dos or your dont’s. All I need is to feel supported, encouraged and to feel like I am on the right track.

We don’t need to tear other mothers down to cement the fact we are all great mums.

To all those women who have ever been made to feel like crap due to another mothers comments just remember these wise words.

when-twitter-troll-goes-off-you

 


What We Can All Learn From Toddlers

“Mummy, Dummy”

“Good Throw Archer”

“Mummy, Tired”

“Oh Funny Archer”

“Oooh Big Poo”

Although I would rather not hear some of this running commentary from my toddler during the day, I cannot deny that at least he is straight to the point. And 100% honest.

Somewhere along the line, we learn to be ‘appropriate’ instead of 100% truthful. We learn to mask or sugar coat how we really feel, tell white lies and in some cases, simply deny or hide the truth all together.

I hung out with my wonderful girlfriends over the weekend, and during certain conversations I was asked or advised not to say or mention certain things in front of certain people. Don’t worry, none of them were sinister, but it left me having to think about everything I was saying just in case I put my foot in it. Do you know how hard it is to do this when you only have half a brain (I seem to always leave the other half at home with the kids)? It is extremely difficult. But also got me thinking (shocking right?) – why aren’t we as honest and as primal as a toddler?

Why don’t we say how we really feel? Why don’t we act on what we are thinking? Why don’t we allow the truth to be exposed in real time rather than hide it until it inevitably comes out anyway?

Although I myself am very hesitant to express myself with the same emotional gusto as a tantruming toddler who isn’t allowed a toy at the shops, I still believe we, as rational adults, can come up with an alternative way to express ourselves that is equally as cathartic? A few little tears? A few angry swear words? A scream in the car? Surely there is a way right.

But the more I think about it, the more I realise someone is likely to call the police or doctor on me if I allowed myself to be as transparent as a toddler.

Dropping to the ground and crying when you look at the price of a nice dress.

Smashing the walls and screaming when you realise you have finished your chocolate and there isn’t any more.

Dropping on your knees and refusing to continue when you don’t want to run on the treadmill any more.

Throwing your phone away when autocorrect changes a word without you asking.

Crying floods of tears when the movie at the cinema stops playing and it won’t immediately start playing again.

The other day I was on the treadmill next to a man who was wearing a very low cut singlet. He was allowing himself to breath as he trained which I am all for. The problem was, he had terrible BO. On one hand, good on him – it is a sign he worked really hard that session. On the other hand, I was right there copping a wiff every time I struggled to breath through my run. If I was to take the toddler approach, I would have turned to him and said “Pooeeeeyyy Mate! You have some terrible body odour. Do you mind going and putting on more deodorant? Your smell is making me a little sick. The bathrooms are right over there.”. Can you imagine if I said that? How awful the gentleman would have felt if I had said that to him? How rude he would have thought I was? But wouldn’t it have been more honest and beneficial for everyone if that is what I ended up saying?

In principle, I think we have a lot to learn from toddlers.

If you are thirsty – drink.

If you are hungry – eat.

If you need to poo – go to the toilet (not in your pants).

If you love someone – tell them.

We shouldn’t mask or hide our feelings and we shouldn’t be afraid to be honest (most of the time). All our primal needs and desires should be met – its our human right!

I think the idea of being ‘appropriate’ comes into play when you develop empathy and understand that sometimes honesty isn’t always the best policy – especially when it is at the expense of someone else. Take a toddler pointing to a stranger and asking “why is that person fat”. There are gentler and more social acceptable ways to approach delicate situtions. And sometimes, there is legitimate reasons to mask or hide the truth from people.

Just don’t let being ‘nice’ get in the way of being honest to yourself. It can be all consuming and adds unnecessary stress. Don’t be afraid to let your inner toddler free.

We all need to roll on the ground and fake cry every now and again. It’s healthy.


Harder Than Labour

In my plight to lose the dreaded baby weight, I have discovered a lot about myself. I have discovered I am fitter than I thought I was, that somewhere along the line I have damaged some ligament and/or bone in my foot and I go as red as a beetroot when my heart rate goes anywhere higher than my average chase-after-toddler da. Oh, and one more thing – forcing myself to go to the gym is harder than labour.

Give me a chance to explain.

I like exercise. Don’t get me wrong, I also hate it but at the end of the day I enjoy feeling the burn (even if that burn is every inch of my being). But my brain is a b*tch. Actually, I might even call her a Cee yoU Next Tuesday.

She is out to get me. She plays tricks on me and always finds loop holes in my thinking that convince me that going to the gym is the worst idea in the world. She tries to tell me that sitting on the couch with my family and watching a movie is a far better option than bettering my fitness. “Pallease…” she moans “you have a fiancé and two kids. You’re a washed up old mum. You don’t need to go to the gym! Stay here, snuggle, shower, clean the house like a good housewife”. She goes on and on about how much better it is for not only me but the general household if I stay home. Sometimes she even convinces me I am too ‘unwell’ to go to the gym.

Most days, the only time I can get to the gym is after the kids are in bed. All mums out there will understand how hard it is to lift a finger after the kids go to bed, let alone exert energy on a cardio machine at the gym. I admit, I would much rather be doing anything other than letting my bits bounce as I do intervals on the treadmill, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want and need to go. My brain doesn’t seem to get that and so the battle begins.

Every single day she fights me. The struggle hits late stage contraction pain when I am 30 minutes out. By this stage I am physically drained from fighting the constant badgering to stay home. The earlier I train the better otherwise I need to pretend to myself that I am not going to the gym and spring it on myself at the last possible moment so the biatch doesn’t have a chance to hold me down.

You see, my brain seems to forget that it is exercise that gets us through those crappy days. It helps us sleep better, keeps the bastard that is anxiety at bay and generally makes us feel good. So every day as my brain puts more and more pressure on me not to put on my sports bra, not to pack my gym bag and not to set my running speed at 12 on the treadmill, I have to fight to remind her we are much better off for it. I have to fight through those waves of thought that come every 2-3 minutes that tell me ‘stay home…don’t go…rest up…you deserve a day off’.But when it finally comes down to the push, I have to really dig my feels in to get myself into the car and out the door.

And you know what, it doesn’t get any easier no matter how many times I go to the gym. . But just like labour, I seem to get through it and the outcome far outweighs the pain I go through to get there. I always take a little epidural (coffee) for the pain and suck it up and go. Even though I leave red faced and stinky, my body (and brain) thank me every time.