Ma. Mam. Mommy. Mummy. Mum. Mom. Mama. Mammy… Whatever you’re being called, does it still sound a bit strange? Like you’ve borrowed someone else’s boots and they’re only MASSIVE.
I still don’t answer to ‘Mammy’ all of the time (and not just because it’s been uttered for the umpteenth time that minute), because – sometimes – I feel like it’s not a term that applies. Four years on, and it still feels alien. Never thought I’d be a mum, never mind a ‘Mammy’, for many reasons (somewhat due to the fact that I’m from South County Dublin; ‘mum’ or ‘MAWM’ are more the norm)… I blame the other half. He’s from Cork.
Anyway, while you instantly become a parent whenever a child vacates the womb, sadly a ‘How To’ guide doesn’t automatically download to the recesses of your brain. Not enough people are honest about that.
This is the moment I became ‘mum.’ It was mid-March 2013, and I’d just come around from a general anesthetic to the other half brandishing this picture of her on his phone. It was the first time I’d clapped eyes on her and it was to be another 6 hours before we actually met. But more about that another time.
Since the internet has reduced our attention spans to that of a gnat, and there’s far too much waffle here already, behold some bullet points regarding yours truly and the site before I lose you altogether.
* I’ve been oversharing on the internet since 2004, through various entertainment and lifestyle sites. For more info on the former life, here’s the Linkedin Profile.
* It doesn’t tell you that I’m a mum of two (resulting in much laughter, tears, collective wailing, ten trips to A&E, and three hospitalisations).
* I’ve muddled along, juggling anxiety and depression since childhood (but sure look it, who hasn’t at this point?)
*Sometimes, I drink more than I should. Wine. Red wine. Lidl’s Montepulciano d’Abruzzo to be precise. Another reason this blog exists. It keeps the mitts busy after the kiddies are packed off to bed.
* Expect a warts-n-all depiction of parenthood and pregnancy, mental health and the general mania of managing little beings…
* Consider it a place you can feel connected without being required to bang out ‘Five Little Ducks’ with a herd of strangers in a church hall. Some days you just don’t feel like singing Five Little Ducks with strangers. And that’s ok. Some days you can’t get it together to leave the house. And that’s ok too. Tomorrow is a new day, and until then, we’re here.
Let’s just try muddle through and have a few titters along the way. Only titters, mind, not full blown guffaws – lest we wake the children, or worse, piss ourselves in the process…