I mean, since when did overwhelm become a noun as well as a verb – that’s what I want to know.
Was it when we all became so overwhelmingly overwhelmed, that some flashy business guru had to invent more jargon? Well, don’t let it be said Brazen Mummy doesn’t keep you on the cutting edge of fancy schmancy lingo.
So are you suffering with this overwhelm too?
And what does it look like?
Err, you know that thing when you’ve got so much stuff to do you can barely stop for breath? When you might just yank your frazzled hair out and scream big ugly swear bombs just for the eff of it? Yes, well that. (So a friend tells me…)
You may wonder why Brazen Mummy would suffer with this overwhelm. Aren’t I “just” a stay at home mum? Well, firstly, this mumming is a damn sight more demanding than my years of swanning around the office. The days when I could pee solo and make coffee the first time the kettle boiled.
Mumming is a twenty-four hour Piccadilly circus, with no pay and a two foot boss who can tantrum like a b*tch.
Stop comparing yourself to others! But urgh, why is it so hard..?
Comparing yourself or your child to others will steal your happiness. Yep, that’s right. It will rock right up in its woolly balaclava and snatch the very joy from your delicate little palms.
So today I’m thinking about why we do this to ourselves and how we can just flaming well stop it! Because we should just concentrate on being fabulous us, have faith in our parenting skills and be proud of our gorgeous little bundles of craziness in all their ratty, snotty glory.
Hell yeah mummies, let’s crack this.
Should you stop comparing yourself to others completely?
OK, I’ll admit it. Just like the big guy with the twiddly moustache from the advert says, a bit of comparison can be a useful thing.
I mean let’s face it, none of us are born knowing how to mum. We learn and take our inspiration from others, to some extent. I know I’m often taking a sneak peek at how other mums do things and thinking bloody brilliant, I’m stealing that snazzy little trick.
I didn’t realise what a mother was until I became one.
When I was a child, you were someone who took charge of all the things and told me I couldn’t stay up late playing Barbie Rock Star. In my heart I was grateful you were always there with your hugs and your patience, but I didn’t realise it then.
When I was a teenager, you were someone who nagged about short skirts and said no to bad boyfriends. In my heart, I was grateful you showed me how to be strong and brave and to believe in myself, but I didn’t realise it then.
When I grew up, you became a best friend. I was growing into you – we liked the same things. We scavenged at flea markets, fought over bargains, shared inspiration. But that wasn’t all you were. I didn’t realise it then.
Now That I Am a Mother
Now that I am a mother, though still new, I begin to sense what it means – the sheer enormity of what you have given.
Why the First Week of Blogging Feels Like the First Week of Motherhood
I lie on the floor of the landing. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here. I just feel drained.
And then it hits me. This first week of blogging has been like that first week of motherhood. You know the one – when you felt knackered, emotional, and everything was just completely, indisputably surreal.
Right then, thinks my slightly fuzzy brain. You’re not lying here like a great whinge baby for nothing – there’s got to be a post in this somewhere. If I can just rack my memory banks and piece all this together…
So if you remember that hazy, crazy first week of motherhood, or if you’ve ever tried your hand at some new creative thing, have a peek at this and let me know if it all sounds a bit familiar…
Giving Birth – The Ouchy Bit of
The first week of blogging is done and it’s a bit like you’ve given birth. OK, so there were none of those good drugs and nobody came to stitch up your lady parts, but it was similarly intense.
This week’s post is a toughie for me. Early miscarriage is something which affects so many of us, and yet when it happens to you, you feel like the only one in the world. Because nobody ever mentions it. It becomes like your secret shame, and it should never feel that way. So I’m going to be brazen and talk.
Because it’s hard to be the only one without a bump. Without a pram. Without a warm bundle of baby-ness in your arms. You feel like it will never happen for you; like blessings are for the other people. That’s not the case.
So it was always my wish to put my thoughts into words one day, in the hope of helping somebody out there find a little piece of comfort. There is help for you if you have suffered an early miscarriage. There is support. There may be solutions if you look for them and you may still find that rainbow if you keep on searching. I am proof of that.