Mummyfried

Below are key messages I would like to deliver to management... That's right, to Mummyfried (the boss of the boss:  my own alter ego)  the big boss upstairs, the vertically challenged bosses I gave birth to, the bosses at the paid place of employment:  To Mummyfried:  Stop the 60 -70 working week and dreams about really being a tall, blonde, athletically thin, dedicated houseproud yummy mummy and fabulous friend. It's not working. Take a stand. Get to it and sort it out. (Stop being a slave to the system, eating, and start exercising! the rest will follow). To the ankle-biter bosses: The days of empty threats are over. You fail to pick up, I promise to throw out!  My feet deserve a lego free walking path environment!  To the boss upstairs. Give me a break. Please? Like, a real one? A lottery ticket, a wealthy uncle who wants to hand it all over, a warm hug, and some hot chocolate? Please? Don't carry me leaving footprints in the sand, if I fail to act on th...

Until yesterday, I looked at my angels and saw two mini versions of me.   Mini-Me 1:  A pre-baby body.  A pre-Mr Lucky, pre-debt, pre-stress, and exhaustion from cleaning cooking working, and caring (not in that order). A fit, healthy, rested body - a result of sleeping in till 2 pm after five nights of solid clubbing, hence laughing, exercising, flirting, and genuinely enjoying life. An occasionally clumsy, happy, cool cat that moved in different social circles with lots of friends.    Mini-Me 2: Post-baby body. A doughy soft, perpetual beginners level yogi, with a LOVE  of good food, a select group of very very good friends sprinkled with a blessing of earth angels who have made me laugh, be grateful for what I have, and who encouraged me to appreciate the small things, and become someone filled with endless buckets of positive affirmations, a sun worshiper in a bikini with that 'I know, I shouldn't, but I  am happy and it's comfortable' fa...

Today I attended an emergency session with a child specialist. I knew deep in my heart, the problem wasn't with either of my children. The problem was / is with the child in me. That sensation of fear, guilt, shame suddenly engulfed me during the session.  What was I doing here? All along, I knew the truth, but for some reason, I had to hear it from a trained professional. I paid 100 euro to hear what my heart had been telling me all along. It was time to grow up - take responsibility and change the circumstances I had created. Without fear.  I had made a decision, the right decision and I failed to communicate that clearly to the children.  I was not acting with confidence - but with great sadness  - and this had caused confusion. I expected the children to accept a change that was better for them in the blink of an eye. They are not that adaptable,. It took me a little over two years to take the courage and gumption to take a positive step. How was it t...

Tonight the baby ran out of the kitchen in tears. I found her on her bed, sobbing  hysterically. She told me she had made a wish and it didn't come true.  She was tired of making wishes, praying and being good.... And never ever, not even once did they become reality. I asked her if her wish was something she needed or wanted. She said she wanted it. I asked if it's something she could obtain if she worked hard for it, and the answer was no. How do you explain to a 7 year old that you can pray and wish with all your might, but you will never be able to grow wings and fly,  nor will you have a magic button that will produce all the dresses you want. I didn't want tonight to be the night where Miss 7 realises that magic doesn't exist. That those dreams don't come true.  We talked about perception, goal settting and manifestations.  Somehow , I wove magic back into her world..and I think I managed to throw in at bit of girl power too. I ...

I wonder how I would feel having a screen shoved up against my face while the world whirls by backwards? I would probably scream uncontrollably too. And not for fun. No, I am not talking about being on a ride at a show. Last night I saw a woman pushing her Stoke pushchair with determination.  Facing her was her baby, howling at the top of his lungs.  I have been there. I don't own a Stoke, but have had that look of determination on my face. That, please don't approach me or give me a look of pity - I have things that need to get done and baby howling combined with a compassionate face may very much result in me wanting to get into a corner, curl up and cry. But then she did something that threw me.  She stopped, sighed, grabbed something that was hiding the baby's face, touched it a few times.  During this time, the baby had stopped crying. I had a sneaky peak into the pushchair and saw the baby was about 9 months old. He was also very cute. Curious, I co...

I have a serious case of green eyed monster. I can't shake it. It's getting bigger, uglier and hungrier by the second. Try as I might to rationalise, calm it down, and tell it to go away, it won't. Like a raging bull, this monster is out of control. OUT OF CONTROL I say! The Baby has an obvious preference for Mr Lucky.  She falls over, she runs to Mr. Lucky. She wakes up in the middle of night howling, only Mr.Lucky can calm her down. She wants to play, it's Mr Lucky. I know I sound like Jan Brady but I can't help but say  'Mr Lucky, Mr Lucky, Mr Lucky!' The clever little bugger comes to me for feeding, nappy changes, baths and when absolutely desperate for a sleep and Mr Lucky isn't around for wind down. That is it. I feel used, useless and a little embarrassed / ashamed to admit I have been doing Jan Brady for weeks - am mortified (particularly as I would have preferred to be cool, hip, well liked and popular Marcia). Little Miss is slowl...

This is a blog of unconditional love. Even I have to roll my eyes and gag a little. So if you are at all like me, I urge you – stop reading. Help me save the reputation of this blog site and please STOP.   Move   along, nothing to read, nothing to say.. MOVE ALONG I URGE YOU! If you are at all on the soppy, 'water spurting out of your eyes at the drop of a hat' type, then by all means read on.....if I bring a tear to your eye – then I may have just salvaged my reputation and this blog, and blog site. I have been so caught up in the mundane and the day to day that an entire year has gone by since having the Baby and I feel cheated.  Don't get me wrong. I have spent every waking hour and more often than not every half sleeping hour with her. I celebrate her existence with each and every breath – but still, I feel cheated.  She sleeps in her own room. She is almost walking. She has seven teeth. She wants to feed herself. We no longer sterilise or boil water...