Why Mummy Drinks..

It’s Sunday. It’s my “day off”. Well a day off from work. But it’s 5.20pm and I have spent nearly three hours doing payroll, managing the next months rotas, drew a fucking boots mind map ( although it is pretty epic ) and I’ve also put washing away, put a new load on, hung that washing up, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned the bits that didn’t clean in the dishwasher (why does that happen?!) cooked pizza, cut pizza into super , tiny slices of pizza fit for a mouse as every slice seems to be “too big” for my 2.5 year old. I have been emailing, texting , messaging the work whatsapp group..

I don’t stop.

And this is why mummy drinks.

Noo is getting through his 50 tiny slices of pizza and it’s taking forever because there are so many god damn slices. Oh, did I mention that he has insisted on having two drinks too? Juice, not Mummy’s kind of drink.. Let’s just clear that up.

I am half way through my HR degree. It’s great. Very informative. Lots to learn. Just love it when I have 12 hours to write a 4500 word essay as I’ve left it to last minute as I haven’t had a day off or even a minute to sit down in the last 986 days. Yeah that’s right, the age of my child. 621 days back to full time employment. 305 days doing my HR degree, and 274 days of my retail NVQ .

This is why Mummy drinks.

Above everything else, I have a wedding to plan. 265 days.

To be fair, we’re pretty on schedule. Although the copious amounts of pom poms I have hand made over the last year is beyond belief , check out my insta for pom pom updates LOL.

How do I fit it all in?

I drink and believe I am superwoman.

I never knew how much I actually do until a Sunday, because on a Sunday I have to not only finalise the last week of work but plan ahead for the next week. It never ends. I also have to change pants (Nicky’s not mine) , watch The Bee Movie (Sunday favourite, and Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, you get it) , build a train track , do painting, play playdoh (although that is Matt’s favourite) , take the boys out shopping for food , do washing for the week, study , tidy up , sort recycling , bathtime, milktime, bedtime, be a mum , and be a partner.

Nicky got upset earlier as I wouldn’t give him a third bowl of skips.. don’t judge that I gave him two.. I mean skips are made of air, but three really?! I can’t even manage that. His poo will ultimately smell like prawn.

It’s 5.50pm and pizza has finally finished . Behind me is the TV playing the most annoying American baby songs. I watched American Horror Story earlier, I can only imagine what kind of nightmares I will be having tonight… Floating giant men with the background music of “pjammas are good for you, monkeys like pjammas, we like them now”.

Thank the lord that Matt cooks for us, I mean I would just die. Actually to be fair, if I cooked , we would die.

I just had the poo summons.

Yep, you guessed it, smelt like prawn.

And this is why Mummy drinks.

Over and out.

Why Mummy Drinks...


Juggling work and home life.

I haven’t written in a while. And I guess that’s because I haven’t been sure on what to say.

I’ve been back at work , full time, for six months now. And it’s great. But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

I absolutely love my job. And I always want to do my best. I want to be best. I want to work hard to provide for my family. And with that, it comes with a price.

There are some days where I see my little man for only half an hour, an hour tops. I leave at 8 and get back at 7. I miss breakfast and bedtime.

I have one day a week where I get to spend the entire day with him. One day. One day where I should devote the entire day to him. But I don’t.

I have one day a week to do housework. To visit friends . To visit family. He doesn’t get me all to himself. And I don’t get him all to myself.

And I feel awful about that.

I feel awful if I leave chores. I feel awful if I don’t get to visit friends. To visit family. To get a load of washing on. To hoover. To play fire stations or truck races.

How can I give it 100% to him when I need to fulfil my role at home life too?

I wish I had more time with him. I miss him every single day I’m at work. I miss him every single minute I’m late back. I miss him every time i choose to meet a friend after work.

But where does the balance start where it’s all acceptable?

My anxiety makes this a lot worse . I get anxious that I don’t see him enough. I get anxious that I need to succeed at work but can’t if I have to stay home.

It’s never ending . And I feel like I can’t win.

What’s best?

The time I spend with my little solider is undoubtedly the best time I ever have. And he comes with me wherever we go on my day off and he absolutely has the best time. He loves going outside, he loves meeting new people , he loves seeing friends and family , and most importantly , he loves being happy.

Being back at work hasn’t changed who he is. And I wouldn’t change that for the world . I have the most happiest son I could ever have asked for. And yeah, I work a hell of a lot. And yeah, we have busy days when we’re together. But, on that very rare occasion where we have a whole day just two of us, it’s fucking brilliant . And I absolutely love the fact we get that.

Yes mummy works full time. But mummy is bloody great at being a mummy.

And we have the best time ever.


Being Truthful

A few days ago I made a social media post about my progress. It had been a year since I went public with my PND. A few days ago I felt good. A few days ago I felt positive.

The day after I posted , I broke.

Was I really kidding myself that I was better?

I have tried so hard this past year to feel more like me again. Maybe I pushed myself too far. Maybe I’m not cut out to be Mrs positivity .

Am I lying to myself?

Am I lying to everyone?

I feel broken. I feel hurt. I feel exhausted.

It’s got to the point that I can’t leave the house. Even the thought of it absolutely scares the life out of me.

I have been off work now for three days. Have I ruined any chance I have to progress? I can’t help but worry about every little thing that is happening to me. It affects everything. Everything.

Will I feel normal ever again?

Will I be happy ever again?

Will my partner still love me?

Will my son still love me?

I could go on and on with questions. All these questions battle in my head and it’s draining. I’m tying to fight them all and it’s making me believe I am failing.

I am failing as a person.

A partner.

A Mum.

I tried meditating while I had a bath on the first day. It confused me. What should I be feeling while this is going on? I had to close my eyes. Why? How long does this last? Even meditation makes me anxious.

I don’t think I am ever going to beat this.

I can honestly admit that when I did write my yearly post, that I was in fact feeling better. I was more positive. I tried hard to get this far. But was I actually covering up again?

I do believe that I won’t feel like this forever. But I just don’t know when it’ll end. And that frightens me.

My son does make me smile on a daily basis. He fills my world with love. But, I am exhausted with trying to keep up. I do not in any way, want to let my son or my partner down. And I think it’s that pressure that I’ve put on myself that I’ve spiralled out of control again.

I try hard at work. In fact , I try very fucking hard at work . As I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to let my team down. I don’t want to let anyone down. And again, I push myself too far.

I need to learn how to relax.

To calm down.

To take things easy.

To love life again.


Mother’s Day

Today was my second Mother’s Day. Today was a really lovely day. Today my little solider bought me lots of gifts and even signed the card . Today was the mark of strength. Today proved that I can do anything.

Last year on Mother’s Day, a man publicly shamed me for breastfeeding while in a pub. My first ever Mother’s Day. My first time out. My first time feeling brave. I had never felt so hurt, so sad, so humiliated.

I was so excited about going out with my little one, who was five weeks old at the time, and we were having the best time ever. We were celebrating. We were being a family. Never did I know that the next day it was all going to be ruined.

The next morning I had a knock on the door from a reporter. I was so confused at the time, she went on to tell me about a neighbour of mine shaming a woman breastfeeding in a pub. I didn’t think anything of it really, until I googled it. Then realisation hit me. It was me. It was me he was shaming.

I will never , ever forget that moment. How could someone do that to a young mother ? A first time mother ? On Mother’s Day?

Anyway, the next few weeks were tough. I was paranoid. I didn’t want to go out in public. I didn’t want to do anything. It was on This Morning for crying out loud. I felt ashamed. I felt confused. I felt betrayed. Betrayed by humanity.

But you know what? I grew strong. I grew brave.

And to the man who has no respect to Mother’s feeding their child, to the man who thinks it’s OK to publicly shame Mother’s feeding their child, to the man to obviously lives in the first ever century, to the man who lives directly opposite me… you didn’t beat me. In fact, you made me a stronger person. A stronger Mum. And now I feel I can do anything.

So in a way, I thank you for being a complete and utter old fashioned arse because , I feel fucking great. So cheers !!


Day Thirty One

Day Thirty One

“We all make mistakes, sometimes terrible, horrible, life-changing mistakes, but remember, that’s what makes you human and it’s okay. Know that”.

From the first day I started feeling weird, a bit like I was on a different planet, somewhere that I wasn’t fit to be in, I thought I had made a mistake. Why was it OK that I had a baby and was going to bring him up in a world where I didn’t understand, where I didn’t know of what I was doing was right. Why would I do that to him? Why would I allow that to happen ? Surely that is absolutely unfair to the little , tiny human that should have the best in life. And I couldn’t do that for him. I wasn’t going to be the Mum he deserves. He deserved the best. The best mum in the world. And I just wasn’t that.


Since writing this blog, I have grown so much as a person . And so much as a new Mum. I have undoubtedly had the best year of my life, and also the most hardest, most terrifying year of my life. I admit , there have been times where I wanted to give up. Where I wanted to hand my baby back. Because I felt like I wasn’t good enough. And I did want what was best for my son. And at the time I wasn’t that.

My little solider is now a year old. A YEAR OLD! And he is the most happiest , smiliest, funniest little human I have ever met. And that’s because of me.

I admit there have been times where I have made countless mistakes , because everything was new. I had never done this before. And that’s what scared me. I hadn’t had this confidence before . I hadn’t had this knowledge before.

I mean there are still times where I have to take a step back and think oh my god what am I doing?! Because I am still learning. And I have to remind myself that I have done a fucking good job this past year. Through all the tears and meltdowns , through all the door slamming and near walk outs, we have done the best we can. And that is what counts.

I feel so proud of myself. I am so proud of my partner who has put up with all my shit and helped and guided me through this. I am so proud of my son. I am proud of our family.

We will continue to make mistakes as that is what life is. We make them and we learn from them. And that is what this past year has taught me. And that’s what has made me stronger. And happier.

PND will always be there. I still have days where I want to do a runner or hide in a hole for a week. But I now have the strength to battle past that.

Writing has saved me. Writing down and sharing my story has helped me. And I hope that I have helped other mums out there who have felt the same way I did. And I want you to know that it is OK to feel the way you do. Because you are only human. We have feelings that we can’t control and don’t understand. And it is scary. But, there is help out there . Stay strong, speak out and be brave. You can do it.


What is sleep?

At 4.30 this morning I was losing the sleep battle. Do I get up? Is this the start of my day already ?? Being kicked in the head at that time of day was not what I signed up for.

Usually my little man is pretty good at sleeping. He goes to his bed and then comes in with us in the middle of the night and that’s that.

The poor little mite has a cold. He couldn’t settle because he couldn’t breathe. He woke up when his dummy fell out. He woke up when his dummy was put back in. At times he wasn’t even awake, he was just having a little disco between me and his dad. Haha. A little disco, who am I kidding. It was a fucking rave. Resulting in feet, hands or head being bashed at either one of us.

I literally feel like a zombie.

Sleep deprivation really is the worst.

I remember being told when I was pregnant to “get enough sleep in, you’ll be up all the time when the baby arrives blah blah blah “, “make sure you rest blah blah blah” , “sleep blah blah blah”, ” BLAH BLAH BLAH”.

Sleeping when pregnant ?!! Seriously . What does that even mean ?! I can’t remember feeling comfortable, ever! That was probably worse than it is now! How ever many pillows I shoved around myself didn’t stop the kicks in my ribs, bum, my entire body.

“Nap when the baby naps, blah blah blah”, “try and relax when the baby is down, blah blah blah”, “BLAH BLAH BLAH”. All a load of bollocks. I wish I could sleep during the day. But who will come and do the chores? Oh yeah I forget, the fucking chore fairy.

I love my son sooo much. And I do feel for him when he’s poorly and not feeling himself. But he really is a devil when it comes to the lack of sleep.

The fact is that now it’s 8.30am and he’s wanting a nap .. why didn’t you just sleep longer earlier ?!

I’m never going to understand it.


Day Thirty

Day Thirty .

“Watch what you say to, and about, other people. Don’t buy into gossiping and bullying. Create a loving atmosphere around yourself. Let love shine through”.

I’m not very confident about taking about my PND or my anxiety as I get embarrassed. I get embarrassed because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what other people will think of me. Of what they will say to other people about me. So I tend to keep very private about what’s going on in my head. I try to stay strong in front of others to, I guess, prove to myself that everything is OK. So there won’t be any gossiping. And I expect there actually isn’t any gossiping but I just can’t and won’t believe that.

I’m not one for bullying. Never have , and never will. Bullys are weak people and it’s sad. So I have stayed well clear of all of that.

But I guess I kind of bully myself. And as I keep so quiet about everything , it builds up and I begin to doubt myself. Why do I do that? Am I really that sad? Am I that stupid? I argue with myself. Should I have been that bit braver ? No. Because I’m not brave. I’m weak.

This past year has been a huge struggle. A struggle that I have tried to be strong. A struggle that I am proud to say that I’m nearly overcoming . But I still can’t help but think about everything. And wonder why I do the things I do, or don’t do for that matter.

So I am very careful about what I say and who I say what to. Because I want to beat this and I can’t let my anxiety take over and think about who’s saying what about me and why. And that’s why I keep quiet.

I’m my own battle.

It’s a never ending cycle I suppose . But one where I can actually , finally see the end.

I must be stronger and try not to worry if people do gossip. I have a mental illness and that’s OK. I should be able to speak about it. Because it actually helps. And the people who I talk to, I know won’t gossip, who won’t joke that I’m flakey , and a little unhinged, who I know that have my back.

And I’m happier most when I’m with these people because I love them, and they love me. And they’re the people that are helping me get better.