A QUICK HELLO (AS I KNOW YOU’RE BUSY KEEPING YOUR TINY HUMAN ALIVE)
Dear Every Mum,
No matter how you give birth; no matter how you feed your tiny human; no matter if you are a co-sleeper, a breast-feeder, a baby sling wearer, a baby-led weaner, a home-grown organic mum, a home-opened fish finger mum, a gentle parenting mum, a ‘Get your shoes on RIGHT NOW before I turn into the Hulk’ mum, a stay-at-home mum, a back-to-work mum, an ‘I’m not getting dressed today’ mum, a mum struggling with her mental health, a mum feeling judged, or a mum feeling on top of the world …
NO. MATTER. WHAT. You, my gorgeous and magnificent new friend, deserve the right to enjoy motherhood.
FOREWORD
A TINY WORD FROM MY TINY HUMANS
A little like trying to get through a HOT drink of anything nowadays, I similarly, couldn’t get through the intro of this book, without my tiny humans sharing their thoughts on it all. Over to you girls …
MUMMY’S STARTING A REVOLUTION
Our mummy doesn’t like it when people say unkind things about other mums. She says this is being judgmental and that no mummy deserves that.
Our mummy thinks it’s very important to tell the truth, no matter how hard it may be. She believes that not telling fibs about what being a mummy is really like will make other mummies feel better about themselves and not like they are the only one going through it.
Mummy is not scared about telling the truth.
She was once, though. When she first became a mum, our mummy thought she wasn’t doing a good enough job, that everyone else was doing better at it than her, but she was too scared to talk about it. She felt alone and not very brave. She was scared to tell the truth that sometimes being a mummy is hard and that it sometimes made her think unkind things about herself.
Our mummy soon learnt that telling the truth about her experiences of being a mummy, even the more difficult parts about her mind getting poorly, helped other mummies share their experiences. And that made her and other mummies feel less alone and more brave.
Our mummy really cares about this book and the people who read it. She doesn’t want to sound corny or like something she calls a ‘prom queen’, but she really wants to make a difference with what she has written and help bring together other mummies who also believe in being kind to other mums.
Our mummy wants to create a big group of these mums all showing support rather than judgement to each other, even if these mums do things differently.
So Mummy has made a decision.
Mummy’s starting a revolution.
The Every Mum Revolution, supporting EVERY mum – NO judgement!
She would love you to join her.
Love Éva-Loren & Isla-Mai
CHAPTER 1
BULLS***
OK, so have I got your attention?
I hope so, because I have a feeling in my knackered, mummy bones (without being too presumptuous, as we have only just met) that we are going to be great friends. You know the kind. The kind who, after just five minutes and five swigs of fizzy wine, are sharing life stories, birth trauma, sex-gone-wrong tales and the fact our bikini lines are less Brazilian, more Gorillas in the Mist since pushing a tiny human out. Yes, THAT type of friendship; the type we all dream about and seldom have the pleasure or fortune to have in our new mum-shaped lives.
You and me, I want us to be that type of friend – and like any good, no, GREAT friendship, we need to agree that the things we share between these pages (and what happened between our legs) is, of course, just between us.
Deal?
Can I take it from you silently nodding your head that means you are in?
BRILLIANT!
So, now you’ve managed to stash your tiny human somewhere to get a few minutes peace to read this book, let me introduce myself properly.
My name is Liv. I am the often bedraggled, occasionally ferocious protector of two tiny humans. I am also a writer. The writer bit came second as, before motherhood, I was a closet writer. Which meant, I didn’t have the literary balls to show my work to anyone. However, once I’d shown my vagina to a bunch of strangers (thanks to the beauty of childbirth, not me being a porn star), showing something I’d written to the world was no longer as terrifying as my brain first had me believe (who’d a thunk it?!). Motherhood, for this (and for other unforgettable gifts such as permanent piles, sleepless nights, an uncontrollable bladder, oh, and my two beautiful tiny humans) I thank you.
So, what else can I tell you?
Oh yes, I’m knackered and a little bit mental. Officially, I am the first (knackered) all of the time and have been the second (mental) some of the time. Just to clarify, when I say ‘mental’ I don’t mean the cool London-meets-LA speak ‘mental’. You know the ‘Yeah, my life is SO fooking MENTAL since having kids, I’m like, SO CRAZY’. No. I actually mean, full on, officially diagnosed by a doctor, mental. All thanks to a visit from those two petrifying and incredibly nasty friends, postnatal depression and postpartum psychosis. But more of this delightfully messed-up tale later. (If you are a lover of horror stories and can’t bear the suspense, then feel free to skip the next bit and dive straight into the darkness on page 95).
So, what can I tell you about me on the mum front?
Well for one, I insanely bloody LOVE my tiny humans (two beautiful little girls bursting with character, kindness, snot and glorious sloppy kisses in equal measure) with an unashamed, unbashful and unrelenting ferociousness like no other I’ve known. It is fair to say that I would singlehandedly slay any fool who gets in my way of loving, providing and protecting them. (I know I sound scary; in real life I actually hate confrontation – honest.) Now, don’t get me wrong: like any other good mum out there, I’m not too proud – no, scrap that, I AM proud enough to admit that they also drive me bat-shit-like-a-box-of-frogs-on-speed BONKERS. I love the chaos (most days). I love and hate equally the edges of despair and the precipices of near disasters that I’m teetering on the edge of on an hourly basis thanks to motherhood. And whether or not I have my head together to deal with these days, usually depends on the amount of sleep I haven’t had, the number of cataclysmic tantrums I’ve diffused pre 8 a.m., and if I’ve ran out of my dry shampoo (which, I’ve come to realise, is my only real ally when the Don’t kid yourself that you can leave the house looking like that crap hits the fan).
Now, I know that you’re also busy keeping your part of the human race alive (great job, by the way). So, before we get to crack open the fizzy wine and dive into my knackered mummy soul and the rest of this book, I need to first let you in on a little something. After all, any woman worth her salt knows that the only way to cement a great friendship is with a dirty great confession (or two).
So, here goes:
I haven’t got a clue what I am doing.
Not one.
SERIOUSLY.
Yes, I am a mother of two tiny humans. And yes, most days I am scared out of my tiny mind that I am making the mother of all messups and that I will ruin their lives forever. And, if I’m really honest, I do not have a scooby doo how I veer from one day to the next, with both my tiny humans still happy (ish), still healthy (ish) and still alive (def more than ish).
Fact.
Wow, it feels better to get that off my chest – thanks!
Since becoming a mum, I’ve found that telling the truth, no matter how ugly, disgusting or ridiculous a light it paints you in,