I thought I’d try my hand at blogging. I’ve tried many things, from selling a shit ton of kids clothes on eBay and finding ridiculous excuses to not post them when expected (mainly because one pyjama day has turned into three) to selling those mud masks everyone raved about at one point. As you can imagine, both were super successful.
For those who don’t know me, I’m Georgia, I’m 23 and have two (mostly feral) children. Before I go on, these kids have defined me, they’ve gave me purpose and they’ve made my life a lot more stable than it was before. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sit with my fellow mum army and moan until I’m blue in the face. I don’t moan because I have any regrets, far from it. I moan because it’s hard. So fucking hard. If you don’t agree you may as well stop reading now. There’s mums out there who paint the fairytale lifestyle, white living rooms, tidier than most show homes and absolutely bossing it as a mum. Then there’s me. I desperately want new fabric sofa’s, but continually tell myself brown leather is much easier to maintain. I want white, but Luna has the tendency to add her artwork to the walls. I want to be this earth mother, but in reality if Luna wants to eat yesterdays crisps off the side, I’m not gonna be the one to stand in her way. I want my house to be spotless, but I have a 3yr old and a 3month old, that is never gonna happen. Unless Zane caves in to my wish to have a cleaner. Zane. He’s the rock that’s stood beside me through it all. Unplanned pregnancy 5 months in to our relationship. Hangovers I was confident I’d never survive, ‘deployments’ which in all honesty always sounded like an extended holiday – especially that scubadiving one, and mood swings enough to make anyone bolt. He drives me absolutely insane, he’s like having another child. But I quite like him. He has this calming nature that I most definitely need in order to only lose my shit 4 times daily and not 72.
I’m not writing this to be the next blogger. They’re just my thoughts on paper. or a screen. whatever. It’s just life, and sometimes if you don’t laugh and talk about it, your head might actually explode (scientifically proven)
So here’s to the mums like me, who left all their weeks washing until Sunday, managed to bleach their sons navy sock to a beautiful shade of pink, and have had to tumble dry it all just to have clothes to wear tomorrow. To the mum’s already thinking ‘fuck it’s Monday tomorrow’ and realising you’ve gotta parent on your own for another 5 days. To the mums who keep saying ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ with absolutely zero intention of doing it until at least Thursday.
You got this mama, tomorrow is a new day.