Raw Parenting

Babies are precious, wonderful things. Miniature dictators of our hearts with smiles that melt us and sticky hands, that grow up all too fast into fiercely independent children that seem to need us less and less.

We see so much in the media and on social networks, all these perfect mums with perfect lives and perfect families, the angelic children, the modelling contract-worthy husbands, the big houses and the fancy cars.

I know I for one have been made to feel like a less worthy mum because of it all.

What's being a mum like in the real world?

I can't remember the last time I went to the toilet in peace. There is always a little face peering round the door, a toddler trying to run off with my pants, a dog trying to stick his nose down the loo to check what I'm up to.

Hot drinks are unheard of. I microwave my cups of tea so many times that inevitably I end up with a stewed potion in the bottom of my cup that has stained the sides of the mug and makes my teeth feel squeaky.

If I don't eat fast, I don't eat. My children find the food on my plate (which is exactly the same as theirs) much more interesting. But if I try to touch anything on their plates you would think I'd tried to force feed them cyanide.

I eat my children's sweets... I wait until they're in bed and help myself to Easter eggs, selection boxes, Halloween hauls. They'll never get through it all anyway, and mummy has needs. Sugary ones.

If I am eating something I don't want to share, I'll tell the girls it's spicy so that they don't want any.

Some nights I put them to bed a few minutes early because I am so desperate for peace and quiet and a glass of wine, to unwind from the stresses of the day. And to eat their sweets probably.

I wear more bodily fluids than is probably even legal. Glazed Doughnut Shoulder Syndrome is a real thing - the result of a two year old with a persistently snotty nose.

I have been known to make out like having a pyjama day is a huge treat, when in actual fact it's because I'm too tired/hungover/fed up to go through the rigmarole of getting the girls dressed. (Have you tried to put clean pants on a two year old who is insistent that they smell funny/aren't the right colour/are the wrong way round? It's the equivalent to trying to fit an elephant in a jam jar).

Sometimes the girls are "treated" to a Happy Meal because I'm too tired to cook, or haven't done the food shop, or forgot to get the dinner out of the freezer.

This is real mum life. It's raw and it's honest and at times it's bloody hard. But it's also the most rewarding thing I've ever done, the most challenging but fun job in the world. And I wouldn't change it for a thing. I love my babies with every millimetre of my heart and then some, I'd literally go to the ends of the earth for them.

So don't believe everything that you read or see. Whether you're a mum, dad, foster parent, carer or whatever else - as long as our babies are clean, fed and loved, we're doing a brilliant job.

L xx