It’s Mothers Day here in the UK and it’s my first as an actual Mummy. (I still can’t really get my head around the fact I am a Mum, surely someone who still finds farts funny and says the F word so much can’t be a Mum??) But I am!
So in honour of Mum’s everywhere (especially me) here are a few things that I am proud of myself for:
I gave birth. I literally spent a full night of my life in constant pain, pushing a small boy out of my lady bits. I still can’t believe it is possible, and actually in my case it wasn’t as I needed assistance from a shouty doctor, a giant plunger, and a lot of lucozade. But hey I still got him out.
I made a baby. I still can’t get over how his Daddy and I had a quickie one morning in April and 2 weeks later my little boy was actually in there as a tiny bundle of cells that would in 9 months time turn into THE cutest little fella ever to be born into this world. And we made that people. We made that!
I got through 9 months of treating my body like a temple and actually because I am breast feeding I still am treating my body like a temple. Even though I could on some days murder a couple of Big Macs (and a 99p burger because Big Macs just don’t fill you up – why is that??!!! What are they made off????)
I’m still breastfeeding. It is no big deal if you can’t breast feed or you just plain old didn’t want to as lets face it as long as you are keeping that baby fed you are doing a good job. But I set myself a target to BF Drake until at least 3 months, and I did it with no plans to stop anytime soon. So I might have to sleep in a bra, wear a million breast pads, and sometimes smell like a gone off yoghurt but for now I am sticking with it. Go udders!!
My boy seems to love me. I have managed to do a good enough job that when other people hold him he hears my voice and smiles. The kid must love me because he does the same when I sing.
Aannndd some things I am not so proud of but on account of the above I feel it’s overshadowed:I cope very badly on no sleep. Q manic bouts of laughing followed by equally manic bouts of crying. All day.
If I am having a bad day I will take it out on my husband. Because I can’t blame the baby, he is just a baby afterall.
I have no time for the cat whom I used to adore unless you count feeding her and pushing her away from me sometimes with an accompanying F off after she has tried to curl up on a feeding Drake for the 10th time. I am sorry Wotsit, one day I will love you again, and I am sorry for that comment I made when you were on our roof about some crows carrying you away.