It may get hairy…

Posts tagged ‘mothers’

The post-birth vagina: an exit route for manners

Motherhood is a never-ending lesson and, yet, I think most of what I’ve learnt since giving birth is not child-related at all, but a crude insight into what people can really be like.

Prior to falling pregnant, people seemed to mind their manners a lot more, but the post-birth woman lives in a league of her own. Since having John, I have received messages from people I barely have a passing acquaintance with, telling me the jumperoo he sits in is bad for him, what I’m feeding him is poisoning him, how he shouldn’t sleep with this type of blanket, he needs a bumper around his cot, his cot should NEVER have a bumper (are you trying to kill your child?!), I need to co-sleep, I shouldn’t co-sleep, breastfeed, bottle feed… I could go on.

The UK has gone completely overboard with their rules and regulations (understandably trying to save themselves from the inevitable law suits), but I can’t understand why mothers insist on terrifying other mothers with these over-the-top rules and clearly inferring that we have inferior parenting skills.

What on earth did we do before Google? I’m sure my parents fed me whatever they were having for dinner, and yet, Google today, and you’ll find a reason to ban all solids from your child’s diet until they’re 21. We have recently started introducing them to my 5 month old and, this week, we introduced him to strawberries and kiwi. The former resulted in a tantrum that lasted over an hour and the second resulted in him licking is own bib clean. Trying out new foods with your child is fun and exciting.

Not two minutes after posting his likes and dislikes, I receive a message telling me that strawberries can be deadly to an infant. In a panic, I Google and find out all the various ways my child will now suffer because of my ignorance. It was only when I went onto a mum’s group and asked the level-headed women there, did I find that most of them fed their children strawberries with no reaction whatsoever. Like anything, there is a chance of an allergic reaction, but the morbid, over-the-top warning that I received was pathetic and cruel.

I find it hard to understand why women automatically assume that child-birth gives them the right to inundate unwilling mothers with lectures, threats and warnings. It is rude and unnecessary.

Please do not assume that propelling a child from my uterus makes me an eager participant in your attempt at a power-trip.

And so I’m back*

It’s been a while since we’ve chatted.

A lot has happened since the days of The Diet, some good, some bad…some stupid, some funny (quite often both). So here goes:

I dieted. I lost next to nothing. I stopped dieting, ate what I wanted to and attended a wedding. My Grandfather got married. He cried through the ceremony with happiness. She laughed with joy (the thing, not a person). My parents split up. I learnt that laptops apparently don’t like red wine. I learnt that when one spills red wine on one’s laptop, one shouldn’t use a hair dryer. I learnt that hair driers melt laptop keys.

I laughed with people and at people. People laughed at me (quite notably the computer store clerks). People laughed with me, but perhaps not as much. I cried. A lot. I started the Soup & Yogurt diet. I learnt that the  Soup & Yogurt diet no longer works. I borrowed my Mum’s treadmill. I ran. I ran some more. My face got fat. I visited Hole in the Wall (wow). I started the Eating for your Blood Type diet. My fridge broke. I ate lots of ‘cold’, but not cold meat. I saved and I saved. I lost all email access (sorry). My business boomed  (bloody Murphy). I hired a freelancer. A freelancer saved my not so tiny bum. I bought my very own sexy laptop. I saved for a laptop all on my tod (through connections). I was sad. A lot. And then I decided to be happy.

In summary: Like many people, my life is series of Mr Bean** moments. My laptop arrived today and I decided I just had to visit my blog again to tell you all about this rather strange period. Of course, I can’t do that without wine, so there’s a glass of wine, in a shoe box, far, far away from my new laptop (but within arm’s reach).

I woke up this morning and despite the nagging feeling that yet again, something would go wrong, I decided to be happy. It’s both easier and harder than it seems. Things did go wrong, but I managed. While running back and forth in Woolies checking out ingredients and getting an audience, I saw flowers. Flowers make me happy. I’ve had a great work month, but alas, work and cash flow seem to misunderstand each other, so while I’m swimming in clients, I can’t afford to buy flowers. So I bought them.

I’ll be dining on more cold sausages in a sealed container tonight (no fridge, remember), but hey, I have flowers. I’m not sure how long I’ll keep them alive, or allow them to make me happy, but I hope each and every one of you finds a ‘flower’ today 🙂

That’s my corny bit, now I’m going to get plastered.

*Admit it, you sang the song. 

** I even have a teddy – 

SEO mal

For those that follow the nostril, I just wrote a hugely long post, published it and Voila! WordPress deleted it, which is why you received an empty email from Up a Mammoth’s Nostril.

I’m not a happy chappy and therefore will leave reposting SEO Mal until later, after at least another 10 cups of coffee.

I might add that I’ve had no sleep, not enough coffee and sitting in 94% humidity.

Grumble.

A new religion: F*ck ’em!

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this post. There is so much I want to say, so much I shouldn’t say and so much that could spark a riot. I wrote this long, condemning post yesterday, which amounted to merely puking out all my thoughts and would’ve frightened even the hardiest reader away – hence, it has been deleted. So, hopefully this summary will achieve my goals and not frighten away my Constant Readers (stolen from S. King).

The Low Down:

My mum had brain surgery twelve days ago. Prior to surgery, she had the highest pain the world (on average, there is a 70% suicide rate in Trigeminal Neuralgia sufferers), which after surgery revealed itself to be double what other sufferers feel. Instead of merely a blood vessel touching a nerve in her brain, it was a blood vessel and an artery. The surgery was unbelievably successful. Instead of being a 5 hour operation, as expected, it was 3.5hours. My mum’s recovery has been remarkable. Twelves days later, she’s walking and talking. She gets dizzy, nauseous and gets severe headaches (akin to a migraine) when she does too much and often can’t stay awake more than two hours, but this is all par for the course. Doctors have told her that with brain surgery, Day 10 is the equivalent of only Day 2 after a Tonsillectomy. It takes awhile, but Mum’s doing better than most and with her hair down, you can’t even see the scar.

However, it’s brain surgery, it’s a mother-f*cking big deal.

*Which is why I fail to understand the total lack of common sense that people have adopted after and during the operation.

Side note, before I get all fumey and mad: Some people, mostly totally unexpected, have been amazing. My mum’s biokinetist has lent his support, her best friends, people she’s met briefly at organisation meetings actually came to visit her in hospital. A close friend of my mum’s and her daughter, who I barely knew before this, have been incredibly supportive and understanding. My best friends. My best friend’s fiancé. Family friends who understood enough to lend their care and support, without expecting anything or smothering my mother or my father and I. The support has been incredible and, for the most part, unexpected.

**Which brings me back to my vent: a lot of the support that was expected, failed to show up. In fact, in some cases, severely hindered my mother’s recuperation…and my sanity. We have had some wonderful cases. Starting weeks before my mother went in, with messages from her friends telling me that they didn’t know how they would cope if something went wrong and she didn’t survive. People, who are merely friends, expecting me, the daughter, to provide them with comfort. Here I was, merely completing task, by task. Trying my hardest not to think about what’s coming. Blocking it out almost entirely and SUCCEEDING, until I receive messages like this, which left me crumbling two days before Mum went in. A close friend of mine recently lost her mother and I was astounded when she told me that people who weren’t family, expected her to comfort them. I’ve now seen this first hand, albeit on a much less extreme basis.

Before I bore the hell out of you, I’ll sum it up. We’ve had people who’ve expected us to run errands for them, so they could visit my mother. One particular fool is still lucky to be alive, after hurting my mother and nearly setting her back, with too much physical affection…in the Neurosurgical ward. Seriously? What fucking planet do you live on? You don’t hurt someone fresh out of brain surgery, and…when they tell you it hurts, you STOP! For the most part, people just haven’t thought and weren’t malicious. We’ve had one person start a fight the day my mum went into hospital, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve been called a nag for fussing, but you watch your mother puke (okay, I didn’t actually see that, but they told me) after taking her first steps, or see her in pain and so nauseous she can’t sleep (regardless how tired and weak she felt) after having a few visitors – you’d be a nag too.

So, after all this, my father and I learnt something in what was probably the most terrifying moment of our lives (waiting for 3.5hours in the Neurosurgical waiting room, whilst my mum had her skull drilled open and her brain fiddled with):

Sometimes, it’s okay for it to be about you. Sometimes, it’s about you and your family and no one else matters.

This was and still is (until the day she is fully recovered) about Mum. Now that she’s recuperating, we can allow ourselves to feel the anger we have towards these people for imposing their silly nonsense on our lives. After all, it was the most difficult moment of our lives. So now, it’s alright for it to be about us just a little and about Mum a lot.

So, with this in mind, we have started a new religion. A new way to dealing with problems and people:

Fuck ’em!

*Apologies for starting with a conjunction – Poetic License.

**As above

Twinkle, twinkle little star

I’m sure you’ve gathered by the title that my lights are finally up?

Can I get a Hoorah?!

No? Ok then, well I’m proud and relieved. The tree is up. Most of the tacky shit I acquired over the years is in its box or on it’s way over to my folks (along with antlers for their Great Dane), sorry Ma! I’ve got lights in my office window – my bedroom window is missing it’s lights because I found out that when you shook said set of lights, the blue and red globes worked, but when you shook it again, the yellow and green globes worked.

Not a funky action – loose wires. I’m also missing a whole bunch of two-pins, which Mum brought round last night. So, my birthday goal is to rewire my Christmas lights and plug ’em all in. Yay…

Anyhoo, this is as far as I’ve gotten. Do any of you  have blogs or links to pics of your decor?

A special kind of hell

Friday looms. Most look forward to Fridays, more so as they start to mark the end of the year and the coming of vacation.

Cat + little redhead that looks just like I did = perfect picture for me.

I have no life, I work throughout the weekends and I don’t have a vacation – therefore, Fridays loom. But more so this one, as Friday marks the day I turn a whole 28.

I’m not all that fussed about age. The older I get, the further I seem to get from my small goals, but the closer I get to my big ones, so technically, I’m sort of balanced. However, birthdays for me hold a special kind of horror.

Firstly, a day that’s all about me is likely to send me cowering under the desks and holding back remotely telling anyone about said day (which, due to my terror, I always seem to do – earning myself my very own high-five to the forehead). Don’t get me wrong, I’m plenty selfish and self-centred on any given day, but a day that forces you down on your knees to beg for attention isn’t my idea of fun.

I don’t want everyone looking at me. As a redhead, that comes part of the package and it’s the part I despise. I need no more attention please. I don’t want the world to see my fly’s undone, or I’ve, yet again, spilt coffee down my front. I don’t want hugs from smelly strangers or lovely smiles that, regardless of who they’re from, I feel the need to smack off the holder’s face. And I don’t want presents 😥

Don’t laugh, this is where I quiver in fear. The present giving. Yes, we all like to get shit that we’ve wanted to for ages and the shit I get is good…great even, but the process of getting it? Let’s just say I’m not sure it’s worth the sacrifice.

Days before the big day looms I start to practice my expressions. A one-size-fits-all expression doesn’t work. Present givers know me too well and would know that one present is by far superior than the other, and therefore determines a superior expression. But what if I don’t like said present?

If I’m ecstatic, am I showing my appreciation enough? Do they know that inside I’m yelling for joy and offering them my first-born child? If I hate the present, is it showing? Can they see me plotting revenge behind my tightly stitched on ‘thank you smile?’

The idea that someone would know that I’m not happy with something they went out of their way to get me, sends me off into a stressed, panic-driven spin. The idea that they haven’t the foggiest that I’m happier than I’ve been in years, does the equivalent.

A short example: My parents call me to the nearby mall the other day, as they struggled to find the speakers that I had hinted I wanted (the hint itself took much effort). I rush off there, in dread, but pasted a solider-face on, only to find they’d organised for me to ‘test’ the various speakers. I was in Hell. I tried to look at prices (choose the cheapest), but the folks know me too well and hid the prices. I tried to choose the first one, but they insisted I try them. They know me horribly well.

By the time I arrived home, my ulcer had actually started bleeding again.* This is how much stress birthdays are.

Do any of you suffer the same? Would any of you truly (now let’s be honest) prefer to cancel birthdays and have absolutely no money spent on you?

*On the plus side, the speaker I chose was awesome.

Top 10 Christmas List – It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, not that many’d notice ;), but I haven’ t had much to chat about. Things are alright and I find that when I’ve nothing to be pissed at, writing doesn’t come all that easily.

SO, in celebration of the season, I’m going to list why I absolutely freaking love Christmas, even if I’m not allowed to celebrate it yet (although, the Mammoth doesn’t have those restrictions, hence his festive hat).

Firstly, I’m not religious. For those that don’t know, the fact that I don’t burn up when I walk into a church is nigh on a miracle. Having been to a convent (albeit for only a few years) and forced to lie in confession, I’m slightly against the whole religious thing, although I envy the religious few I know…comfort and all that.

Nope, Christmas for me is all about me! Well, just about everything. It’s the one time of year that everyone has to be happy. Yes, it can be sad and horrible for a few. The last  two years were difficult for me, as I hadn’t my family with to celebrate, so I tried to ignore everything remotely festive, but this year, I’m going to ignore all that negativity and be one of those ridiculously cheery people that go around humming “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

So, my favourite bit of Christmas is decorating the house, which family tradition dictates I can do on the 8th. I wait until around 8pm, turn the lights down low, put either Christmas songs or some slow, funky, hip wavering music on and then I pour myself a rather large glass of wine and get a mince pie. As it’s summer, I’m dressed in almost nothing (another reason I prefer this tradition to be alone, we wouldn’t want to blind anyone or leave them scarred) and I slowly decorate my house, with more than a modicum of OCD (symmetry has it’s place even in Christmas) and proceed to get tanked.

I do not clean up. I most often pass out on the couch and wake up to a god-awful mess and accompanying god-awful headache on my birthday…

This year I’m looking forward to dressing the Guns in tinsel and taking a ridiculous amount of pictures; Ballot, the Yellow Rat Snake, has already been given a Christmas house, as he crushed his last one a few days ago; and I will start wearing my Christmas earrings from the 9th.

So, my top ten things at Christmas:

  1. Christmas Songs! My favourites being Jingle Bell Rock, It’s Beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and All I Want for Christmas is you. Oh, wait, I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas, Frosty the Snowman … oh bugger it, I love ’em all!
  2. Mince pies. The nice ones, with loads of sugar on the top and the ones that don’t fall apart when you bite into them.
  3. Red wine…loads and loads and loads of red wine.
  4. Lights! My house lights up like a UFO.
  5. Memories. Mainly the ones that come from decorations. I have a pair of little porcelain boots that were given to me at my Christening.
  6. Biscuits – the crunchy ones and lots of them. I always buy a massive tin around the 9th.
  7. Strange smiling. It’s the one time of the year that I can smile at strangers, without them taking a step backwards or averting their eyes. They actually smile back. Granted, I do this throughout the year, but it’s nice to have it returned
  8. The Magic. There’s a buzz, a magic, in the air that just makes me smile non-stop. People go out of their way to help you. Share stories and chat with you more than they normally would. I know it should be like this year-round, but I can’t help but appreciate the small amount of time it does happen.
  9. Kids. I envy all the new mums and the mums and dads of toddlers, who get to partake in that age-old tradition of Christmas Tales. Whether he’s Santa, Father Christmas or St Nick, kids have this endless energy, optimism, excitement and their own special magic that makes watching them worth every second of preparation and every penny you’ve spent on Christmas.
  10. “But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be
    On your own front door.”*

🙂

So what’re your favourite things about Christmas? The weirder, the better I say! Comment below!

*PS. For the sad and melancholy few, I’m really sorry. I do know the feeling, regardless of the above cheer. Here’s a virtual hug from me to you –  [    you    ].

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