Chicken pox is one of those crappy rites of passage we go through as parents – along with weaning, potty training, accidentally ingesting a bit of your child’s puke (no? Just me?), etc. We have recently been through this particular delight, so I thought I’d write my very own Beta Mummy guide to coping with it.
My family keeps pestering me about what I’d like for Christmas this year, and I always struggle to come up with ideas. Let’s be honest, I have everything that I need, and lots of things that I don’t need, and I think I’m getting to an age where accumulating “stuff” no longer floats my boat.
However, I asked my lovely Facebook followers for ideas, and came up with a few more of my own, and decided to stick some of them all down in this post, in case it helped give any of my fellow Beta Mummies (or Daddies) some inspiration.
Today a little old lady gave my son 50p.
We were in Waitrose (free coffee) and the boy was being a pain in the backside. We only popped in for a few bits, but within seconds he spotted the Babybels and he decided that he needed some.
Kids’ TV is generally eye-gougingly awful. Before I had children, I was sure that they wouldn’t watch any TV at all prior to three years of age, and after that it would only be educational programmes, no more than half an hour per day. Then I actually HAD children. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Raise your hand if you, like me, will remember the words to the ubiquitous “Wind the Bobbin Up” until the day you die? Recently I took the Feral Children to the library (I know, I know, big mistake – I only went because FC#1’s new teacher “suggested” that the children visit the library during the holidays,and it would be nice to look like a good parent at the start of the year at least) – and we just so happened to be there when Rhyme Time was on.
This post is a little outside my comfort zone. Doodles are my thing – they’re my creative comfort, my tool for sharing my thoughts and humour. Poems – not so much (although I’ve published one before). But the line about the skinny white jeans came into my head one day and wouldn’t go away until I wrote this. I saw this mum walking down the street with two children, wearing skin tight brilliant white jeans, with a white top, amazing blonde hair, massive sunglasses, and the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. Seriously – how does anyone with young kids get away with wearing white trousers?! Answers on the back of a postcard, please.
So anyway, here’s my poem, inspired by skinny jeans lady.
Ugh, I know. It’s not my favourite part of being a woman, either. But of all the things to prioritise, of all the times that it’s important to practise a bit of self-care, getting your smear tests (cervical screening) done regularly has got to be near the top of the list.
Women can have it all these days, so they say. We can be mothers and sex goddesses and ambitious career women, and can generally achieve great things. We can.
One could.
But right now I’m failing at all of the above.
You know what, I have been putting off doing a doodle about breastfeeding for so long, and despite many requests. Why, I hear you cry? Because, dear reader, along with the whole fandango/sunroof birth thing (also not doodled as yet), it’s just so bloody contentious. Whatever you say, and whatever angle you take, the nutcases crawl out of the woodwork and think it’s ok to start hurling accusations, guilt-trips and insults around. So I’ll say it from the off – I won’t stand for it, it is just not cool.
My wolf pack is like a second family. My wolf pack is a group of women who are like sisters to me, and who I can rely upon for virtually anything. Despite knowing each other for only a few years – we met through baby groups – we love and would do anything for each other as though we have been friends forever. I think every woman needs a wolf pack. I could not survive without mine, and here’s why: