Young, Dumb, First-Time Mum

First time mum/referee/ sleeve snot wiper to a wild toddler. Designated household bum changer. Blogging about this motherhood malarkey from a refreshingly honest and unfiltered perspective.

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Pissed Off Toddler

Sometimes, I feel defeated before I've even started, my toddler has beaten me and I sigh, "God, I'm so fucking tired of this shit."
And I could have shouted that at the silence or at friend or a random stranger in the street and, instantly, I'd feel ashamed regardless because I obviously don't mean it. However, I know I'm about to be silently judged and scrutinized. I've marked my own label - terrible mother. Ungrateful and filled with resent at playing a role I'm supposed to be reveling in every bloody second of. 

But that is all I meant! In a moment of exasperation, of my toddler kicking off in front of a crowd of spectating people for the third time that morning, the milky bar bribery tactic falling through, that's all I bloody meant - I. Am. Tired. Of. This. Shit (and I could really use a hug or a double rum, the latter being the preferred.)
I'm worn out, I feel drained. The terrible twos has smacked me full force and I was unprepared for the destruction it would evoke. I didn't realise this next phase would be quite so challenging.

One of those Days

Today was one of those days. You know those days? When absolutely everything is pissing you off. When your toddler deems it acceptable to whine and screech in your ear at anything and everything. When you basically had to wrestle them into eating the dinner you lovingly prepared by near enough shoving the spoon down their throat. When you can't even enjoy the privacy of a thirty second bathroom trip without the thud of marching feet following suit. Or being unable to brew a hot cuppa without mini me shadowing EVERY. SINGLE. MOVE. When you're having to silently remind yourself to keep breathing and count to ten when you witness the yoghurt massacre that has been wiped all over the just polished table. 

Young, not impotent

Young, Dumb, First-time Mum is what I labelled myself as, both on here and as my book title. Or rather, it's the narrow box I feel I've been unwittingly compressed into. It felt 'fitting' for the audience of scrutinizing judges, inspecting my parenting performance.
Having my now two-year-old son at just twenty years old (a very happy accident, I would like to add) was a definitive and immediate clause to establish me as an incapable mother. Like a rather harsh smack in the face, I, quite instantly, felt strained and pressured by the expectations put forth. I was set up to fail, to be just another young, inadequate mother with a wailing newborn that's distressing (colic) shrieking confirmed my incompetence.

Tantrums, Tiredness and Toddlers

I'm just entering the toddler years and by god, it's a whole new game of challenges. I mean you just can't get it right with a toddler, can you? You can stir up their most favoured dinner in the history of dinners one night and the following, all hell has broken loose because why on earth would you make them their absolute favourite food they normally would demolish when they’ve decided in that split moment they now detest it? 
It doesn’t matter what the situation is, what has triggered tantrum six or your futile attempts to calm the storm, you seem destined to fail at any and all attempts. 

Some days, I’ve successfully, and rather proudly, battled my way through any looming tantrums, on top form as an assertive, in control mum who really lays down the law and keeps her child in check. Other days, I’ve looked at my shrieking, stomping toddler and silently thought to myself, “He has me sussed. There’s no winning this! Where is the emergency snacks ASAP?!” 

Young, Dumb, First-Time Mum: My book out now!

So, I've been absent on the blog recently and this is why - I wrote a book! Yup, I finally decided what the heck? Why not give it a go?
I've been documenting my parenting journey over the last two years on the blog and finally decided to compile it together into a short novel. I've been working tirelessly to bring to life my work into a final finished edition. After months, and much procrastination, and many defeating, and come-to-expect rejections from publishers, I took a leap and self-published with Amazon.

Letter to a King

Dear Arthur,  

Let me just start off by saying you are my sunshine. Really, you are. No cloud could ever dampen my day when I have someone like you to brighten the grey. 
I suspect you’ll stumble across this blog at some point or another and I hope you don't think of me differently. I hope that my complaints, my self doubts, and whining doesn't upset you.
I hope you can understand for the most part why I’ve written some of the things I have, why I chose to share them and why my reasoning for some of the emotions I’ve experienced. I hope you still love me as much despite some of my choices or failures.  

Being a parent is tough, so bloody tough and I really, admittedly, struggled at times. No one prepares you, you're painted a pretty picture of the baby smell perfume, cuddles and minuscule outfits. Nobody mentions the disdain or the loneliness. No one hints at just how overwhelming and tiresome it really all is. How much guilt and self doubt and criticism eats away at you because no matter what you do, your best still feels inadequate. 

I'm a Mum, Get Me Out Of Hereee!

Staying at home with my newborn in the beginning appeared the seemingly safer, less stressful option. I was too overcome with anxiety to even assess that I was, perhaps, overreacting. That not everything in the outside world was a danger to my precious baby. The fresh air would actually benefit and not contaminate him. Other peoples company would be good for me, not make us all incurably sick. It was perfectly okay if he cried in public because, you know, babies do that (like, a lot!) I didn't have to stay confined to four walls to save a stranger earache. 

Having a toddler, the best option is to always get out when possible. Although I had overcome my 'paranoia', going outside seemed like more hassle than it would be worth.
Staying home promised no witnesses to the meltdowns, screaming, my poor inability to thoroughly discipline instead of using bribing tactics as an easy, quick fix solution and not having to pack two weeks worth of items for a two hour outing.
I could settle Arthur with wotsits when all pitiful attempts to take control of the situation failed and resort to the win of begging he please be quiet for a snack without the peering glare of tutting shoppers. I could also, escape to the solitude of the bathroom for a scroll through Facebook and a seat, knowing Hey Duggee would be there to aid my plead for five minutes of alone time.

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