As a parent on social network, we are often given the glorified side of parenthood. Picture this; you’re on Instagram looking through the pictures of Mums with their little ones, feeding the ducks in the sunshine, their happy faces screaming pure joy and glee. A gorgeous Valencia filter giving just the right amount of exposure to fool everyone on the internet that they’re just the most perfect family ever.
What they aren’t telling you, is that two minutes after said picture was taken, their toddler decided to plank on the floor, or curl out a quick crap with no baby changing facilities within walking radius. Their toddler ate the bread for the ducks and still had room for some milky buttons or a freddo that mummy didn’t pack in the changing bag, along with the wet wipes for said crap in nappy. They aren’t telling you that after that gorgeous 30 seconds of the toddler doing as he was told, he turned into Satan himself and decided to unleash pure hell on earth, by starfishing in a puddle whilst screaming that he doesn’t want to be wet. They didn’t tell you that Mummy was quietly trying not to lose her mind and playing the best poker face she’s ever done whilst secretly scouring her pockets for something edible to plug the hole in her child’s face whilst she dreamt lovingly of a full night’s sleep and a glass of wine to send her on her way.
What they aren’t telling you is that actually at that moment in time, Mummy was wondering why the fuck she ever decided to have a child, and the thought of another makes her want to tear her own uterus out and set fire to it. And do you know what? That is OKAY.
We all have those moments. Some daily, some weekly, and some rarely. I, myself only recently had a WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING moment, when I came downstairs from breaking the Olympic world record for the quickest shower taken and discovered N covered head to toe in his own excrement, positively beaming with the painting he’d made on my coffee table with it. At that moment in time, I completely knew I was out of my depth with this whole motherhood thing. At that moment in time, I wished I could just go back to bed and wake up pre motherhood, at 12pm with a hangover and all day to sleep it off.
Whilst I was deep cleaning my toddler’s shit out of my beige carpet I longed for the days where I could just get unbelievably sozzled without being woken up several times a night by blood curdling screams. I screamed at myself inside that I was so fucking stupid and made a mental appointment in my head to sew my vagina up for eternity to prevent this happening again.
I’ve since made peace with the fact that my cupboards are stocked with every single cleaning product known to man, and I’ve made peace with the fact that my child likes to decorate my home with his own shit. I used to feel really guilty that I ever wished for a life without N until I realised that I don’t ever ever want to live in a world where he doesn’t exist, I just realised that it’s okay to miss and almost mourn the loss and end of my life without this mummy tag I now bear.
If you’re ever having an absolute shitting bastard of a day, just remember it’s okay to have an absolute fuck my life moment. I won’t judge you.