One of the best things about starting a family is the amount of unwarranted advice people give you. Seriously, it’s worth getting pregnant just so you can experience the joy of complete strangers telling you what you’re doing wrong with your life. Usually everything.
Add to that the terrifying newspaper coverage of new things parents need to worry about and bringing a baby into the world can become very stressful. The big secret behind all the horror stories is this: Most parents are doing a pretty good job of raising their children.
But when I became a mum I realised that no one ever tells you this, or maybe they did but I was too stressed and tired to notice. Telling mums they’re doing fine doesn’t sell antibacterial nappy sacks or hands-free pumping bustiers or books about how to have a baby and not lose your shit.
The honest truth is that as a parent you will lose your shit, and when that happens you can either laugh or cry. I’ve done both and that’s what I’ve written about, I’ve found there are very few parenting problems that can’t be improved by a lovely cup of tea, a nice sit down and a bit of a laugh.
Last year I received a lovely email from a guy who worked in publishing who had read my blog and wondered if I had ever thought about writing a book. That’s like asking if I’ve ever thought about Kit Harington popping round to do the ironing naked. Winter is coming! Of course I’ve thought about […]
Since starting my blog I have realised that there are some people out there who do not like it when mums make jokes about parenting. But recently wrote a short piece for The Telegraph and discovered there are lots of other things people don’t like mums doing too, as the comments on my article show. ryeatley […]
Blogfest last year was my first ever big blogging event. As I descended the escalator into the hall full of people I half recognised from Twitter I thought: Shit! I’ve made a terrible mistake. Fast forward 12 months and there I was gliding down the escalator into a hall full of people I actually knew and this […]
(Unsurprisingly there are no pictures of me giving birth so instead I chose a pretty flower for you to look at) ‘Is it supposed to hurt this much?’ That was when I knew we were fucked. I was probably 3 or 4cms dilated, at home, in the early stages of labour and my partner, the man […]
Whilst I am loathe to stoke the flames of this discussion which kicked off at the recent Mumsnet Blogfest I do feel there is a point I need to address.
Exactly what jam related activities are acceptable feminist activities?
Personally I’m not overly concerned about not being able to make jam. Who the fuck makes jam anyway?
Even jam factories don’t make jam any more it’s all compotes and jellies and shit these days.
My other half once bought Seville marmalade oranges at the supermarket and tried to cover up his mistake by saying he thought I might like to make marmalade.
I Googled a recipe and was shocked to discover preserve making involves a lot of time, effort and vats of boiling sugar. I am not a woman who should be left in charge of pans of boiling sugar, I flail my arms around. A lot.
I’m also easily distracted. This post was meant to be about jam. Or feminism. Not marmalade.