If you’re into Festivals and all they entail – this is in no way ‘mud slinging’ at your life choices and how you spend your spare time and hard earned cash. Call me ‘Fanny McFuck-Off Festivals’, but I bloody hate the things.
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I was once described as “glamorous”; then I had kids didn’t have time for sport, ate all the tempura prawns and learnt that tights up to my tits makes for the perfect sidelines base layer. In other words, I went from caring what people thought of my appearance to making sure I was happy for me and with myself; tempura prawns, comfortable body temperature and my sprogs make me happy, so ‘up yours’ “glamorous”.
One thing I’ve never been described as is a “real woman”; why is this the reserve of my more voluptuous counterparts?
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Last week saw me put on my big girl pants and take the daunting leap of ‘going freelance’ for my day-job; running my mini PR, Digital Content and Marketing empire from my ergonomically challenged dining room table. After 5 years of working in-house, I decided it was time to work in my house to allow me the flexibility of being my children’s’ on-call taxi-driver/chef/sock-finder.
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Stuck in a rut + over thinking + comparison’s a twat-waffle = I need to put on my big girl knickers and remember why I’m here sometimes!
Motherhood isn’t about reinventing the bloody wheel. It’s about picking at the leftovers on taco Tuesday, signing 13 forms before breakfast, trying to find the other red football sock and shouting “because I said so!” 47 times a day.
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I didn’t think I could get any more emotional this morning, Hugo actually thought I’d lost the plot as I followed him around with a grin on my face. And then I received The Text Message to send any emotional mother over the edge of all text messages from his yr 6 TA
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