It appear as though society is fixated on labels. You have to fit in one box or another somehow to be accepted. You can’t just be an ordinary, run of the mill mother anymore.
These days you’re either a “yummy mummy” or a “slummy mummy” there is no in-between. There is no middle of the road. There is no just being a mum. You have to be a specific type of mum.
Except, well, there is a case of just being a mum.
I am your bog standard, middle of the road, normal (for the most part) mum. And I’d hazard a guess you are too.
I am not a slummy mummy, nor am I a yummy mummy. I fall somewhere in the middle of expectations, in the land of average. I have good days, and bad days, and in-between days.
Last night boys, who are four and two, ate homemade risotto for tea. With no less than three vegetables in it, all boiled in homemade chicken stock. The night before? They had hot dogs and spaghetti hoops. Two ends of the perceived spectrum in two days.
Am I a slummy mummy or am I a yummy mummy? I’d hazard a guess that I’m neither. Just your average joe kind of mum.
Just an ordinary mum
There are days where I pull out all the paints for the boys, draw round them and let them paint their hands and feet much to their delight.
And there are days where I could cheerfully hit myself over the head with a choochoo train if I have to play trains for one more second, mainly because according to my four year old I always play it wrong.
Somedays we get in the kitchen and bake together, make a hideous mess, and I even let the pair of them lick the bowl.
Yet somedays we spend the afternoon on the sofa watching Peppa Pig on repeat.
There are nights when all I want the pair of them to do is to lie down and go the f*ck to sleep, for their benefit as well as mine.
Yet there are nights where it’s all I can do to tear myself away and go downstairs. Nights when just one more kiss isn’t enough. Where their sweet baby snores are magic to my ears.
Sometimes I feel as though I am just on a countdown to bedtime, and yet others I look at my watch and wonder where the minutes have gone. Where the day has gone, the weeks, the months, the years.
When I realise that somedays the days are long, but always the years are short.
But each day I realise one thing above all others.
I am trying my best.
Doing my utmost to give them the childhood they deserve.
And if that means that somedays I am a yummy mummy, then I embrace it.
If that means somedays I am a slummy mummy, then I embrace that as well.
Above all, I embrace the fact that I am a “mummy” of any description.
I take note that I am trying my best. I look where I should have tried harder and I berate myself much more than any online blog article could.
I am simply a middle of the road mother, who will continue to do her best each and every day.
And I’m OK with that, I’m OK with being an ordinary mum – and you should be too.
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