Keeping Motherhood Real Blogs

Judge me, not my kids!

A few weeks ago I bumped into a girlfriend I hadn’t seen for a while. She expressed with such excitement how much she would love to see my kids. Before organising a catch up I jokingly said she was welcome to babysit my kids anytime. She then replies with

‘Are you kidding? NO WAY! From Facebook it looks like you have your hands full, your kids seem like a lot of work!’

Walking away from a commitment I no longer wish to keep, I left thinking what the fuck just happened?! My childless “friend” has created a picture of my kids that I can confidently say is all wrong!

So here is the deal. I complain and whinge about the shitty things my kids do, I put cheeky things they say and little diva moments they have, not to be judged by you but for you to simply relate to because I know for a fact ALL KIDS DO SHITTY THINGS! I will share with you; when my kids drop the f bomb, when they refuse to eat what I’ve spent hours cooking, when they are inconsolable and hyperventilating because all the princess band aids are finished and they need to use a “poo colour band aid”, when it all gets too much and I am rocking in a corner crying because motherhood is hard as fuck. It’s our new reality, it’s daunting and overwhelming but we are in it together and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

No, I don’t share the good stuff. Good stuff is boring as fuck and I dare you say you would be bored as bat shit reading my kids monumental triumphs and milestones. It feels good reading the shitty things kids do so you know you’re not alone and they can in fact all be assholes!

The good stuff; I spent some time teaching my three year old how to spell her name. When she wrote her name for the first time the excitement I felt was beyond words. I was so proud of her it brought me to tears; I get so chuffed when they learn something new. Being a stay at home mum I’m with my kids every day and all day. When I have watched their progress to success whether it be from writing their name, learning their alphabet, counting up to one hundred, completing a puzzle unsupervised, buckling their own shoes it’s all thing I have sat and patiently taught them because it’s my job and I absolutely love it. Yes, it’s hard and I whinge how hard it is but I do love it!

My kids fight over the same toys, they get cranky at each other, they argue over the last piece of crusty toast, the list goes on. But, they do also hug each other and tell one another how much they love each other. If one is sad the other will do their best effort to make them smile and laugh, so many beautiful things they do that remind me just like you, I am doing a good job!

My kids are amazing, non asshole like and fucking fabulous. I feel blessed every single day. Some days they shit me so much I want to give up, just like you, but I don’t because I love them and they’re fucking amazing kids!

So here is to our amazing kids who sometimes do shitty things!




Mumma loses her shit – 28th September, 2016

A night out with Mumma friends is cheap therapy when you’re feeling overwhelmed, depressed and exhausted by the mundane duties demanded of a stay at home mum. If you’re shaking your head agreeing, you need to put the chocolate down, peel yourself off the floor, let your mum bun down, change your stained clothes and have an amazing night out – maternity wear is still acceptable until your kid is three, right? And, it’s perfectly normal to run late because your baby spewed on you, the threenager threw a tantrum, the oldest wants to come and your husband sat on the couch watching footy with beer in his hand completely oblivious to the surrounding chaos. As tempting as it may be to cancel through the turmoil, don’t, you’ve got this!

I went out with three Mumma friends. I prefer to keep their identities anonymous to prevent anyone calling Child Protection on their asses! We all opened up, we are all sleep deprived, our bladders are equally weakened so we’re all at 98% chance of wetting ourselves from laughing, sneezing or coughing, no one wants to go home and entertain the circus and most importantly there is no judging, degrading or belittling each other’s parenting styles, nope, it’s all about listening and surrounding each other in a non judgmental environment. We touched on the topic of what drives us to lose our shit and how we react – not a common occurrence but it’s what we’ve all done at some point! You’ve dropped the f bomb at your kid in the heat of the moment? Fist pump too you, we’ve all been there, we’ve all felt guilty, but accept its part of this motherhood gig. We f**k up sometimes and it’s all OK!

I was out with Mumma A, Mumma B and Mumma C.

Mumma A is f**king funny and gives zero f**ks about what you think of her parenting style. Her tolerance level for shit has become close to none after her first born; she is now a mother of three. Her method of discipline when she reaches boiling point is to lock her kids in the house and tell them she is going for a walk – don’t get judgmental on me, it’s literally for two minutes to instil some fear in them.

Mumma B is conservative, looks like she has her shit together, but she doesn’t, who does? She cares what you think and will feel the need to explain herself to a complete stranger. In the heat of the moment she yelled at her child ‘You Mother F**ker’, and then crawled in a fetal position crying her eyes out from the overwhelming guilt.

Mumma C she’s laid back, not a lot irritates her, but get her in a playground and you’ll hear the chopper! If you’re not parenting your kid and they’re an asshole, watch out for this Mumma! Her disciplinary action is to smack, when she reaches that point of madness she sees red and hits!

I am guilty of smacking my kids on the bottom once or twice in the heat of the moment, I felt a sickening sense of guilt for a long time afterwards as I don’t believe smacking does any good; just my opinion. I’ve used profanities out of rage and again felt like a guilty asshole. The most liberating thing of all is learning we all do it! Of course none of us are proud of our actions, but it’s reassuring and comforting knowing other Mumma’s do the same thing. We all adore our children but some days it just gets too much.

Mumma, you’ve got this, just remember when you lose your shit another Mumma somewhere around the world is probably outdoing you. Stay strong Mumma!


Perfectly Imperfect – 21st September, 2016

My heart races, my breathing speeds up, I begin to fidget as tears stream down my face. I doubt my capability as a mother, I’m not worthy of these beautiful children, they deserve an emotionally healthy mum, a happy mum, any mum but me.

The endless taunting thoughts are suffocating, unbearable at times. It’s a low point I sometimes reach that makes my mind go to the dark place. It’s a place that makes me believe I’m worthless. A false realisation that  I’m not irreplaceable, my husband can find another woman, skinnier, prettier and younger –  I’m probably going to f**k my kids up anyway, they don’t need me.

I’m broken, I’m exhausted, I’m done.

Some people choose to believe the act of a Mother’s suicide is selfish, coward perhaps narcissistic, I believe those people have never suffered depression. It’s not just one bad day on your period where you think everyone is an asshole and you eat a block of chocolate, it’s more than that. It’s a self loathe that is so powerful, in some cases more powerful than you.

I always wanted to be a mum. I thought if I’m not good at anything then maybe its motherhood, maybe that’s what I’ll be good at, maybe that’s what I need to feel fulfilled. And now, that I am a mum I still feel empty, I still feel worthless and I always put this immense pressure on myself to be a perfect mum. What the f**k does “perfect mum” even mean? I’m learning there is no such thing. Motherhood is the one job I’ve given my absolute everything, I adore my kids, my family, it’s all I ever wanted so why don’t I feel fulfilled? Then, I feel like a guilty asshole for feeling this way.

I feel like there is a copious amount of pressure and expectations when you enter motherhood.  You’re expected to bounce back into shape, you’re expected to be grateful otherwise you drown in guilt, you’re expected to keep up with the housework, entertain the kids with books and songs; no electronics, hours of fresh air, breast milk until their five, home cooked meals ever night; ready for hubby to walk through the door and look decent for the unexpected guest and f**k lets add in some baking in there too, because we all know everyone loves an organic, dairy free, gluten free and nut free muffin – no wonder why we need help, it takes a f**king village to raise kids and we are doing it all on our own! I’ve always been depressed and anxious, but entering motherhood, has taken it to a whole new level!

Now, I am on medication, I see a therapist (not as regular as I probably should) I have more good days than bad. I need to self talk A LOT and reassure myself it’s all OK, as soon as those shitty thoughts come out to play, as soon as I have a “Your kids don’t need you” thought, my mind becomes a battle field. F**k yeah my kids need me, no bitch can replace me, if my husband gets remarried after I die (I’m not going anywhere!) she can’t be prettier than me, she has to be fatter than me oh and my kids can’t like her or ever call her mum! I formula fed my kids because I never had a milk supply, some days I let the Wiggles, Peppa Pig and Play School entertain my kids for hours. Some days my house is a shit show, other day’s my husband phones to see if he needs to buy dinner on his way home from work, I sneak in the pantry multiple times a day to eat chocolate and then complain to my husband about how much I hate my new body. I’ve never baked anything organic; my kids eat what I grew up with, normal food, except nuts because the older two have anaphylaxis (that’s a different story!).

I feel grateful every day, I do truly feel blessed, but I’m allowed to complain on a hard day, I’m allowed to complain about my three year old cracking the shits because I cut her toast in square quarters – today she wanted triangles, I’m allowed to complain my five year old screams when I comb her hair because she hates tying it up so it’s always knotty, I’m allowed to complain I’m not a huge fan of the baby stage cos it’s hard. I am grateful, I’m so incredibly grateful for my girls, but sometimes they do challenge me. Would I change anything? Absolutely not! I love being a mu.

Medication works, so does a therapist. Don’t let anyone make you think feeling shit is normal and acceptable because it’s not. You’re an awesome mum, and no one can parent your kids better than you! We can do this!

Cheers to you with my water and meds, we’ve got this!


 Threenager – 14th September, 2016

“Terrible twos” has nothing on “Shit heads at three”. Three is a tough age; they want to be independent but aren’t equipped to be completely independent. You understand most of their vocabulary, but there are still those few words that you’ve pretended you’ve understood for months. Tayla (threenager) and I were watching Peppa Pig and Grandpa Pig says ‘Look at these snails and slugs’ Tayla looks at me and says ‘Ewww Mummy, snails and sluts’. Nope, that’s not a typo! But, she’s three so she can get away with it, when she said it, she looked incredibly cute, her button nose all scrunched up and her hands in front of her mouth.

No matter how cute they are, they tend to lose their cuteness with their lack of ability to compromise and comprehend things. The conversation below was one of those everyday moments with a threenager. If she was ten and could be left alone I swear to God I would have got my car keys and left her mid tantrum. The conversation was going nowhere, and neither could I, cos she’s not ten yet – some days I’m a shitty Mumma and I have little to no patience, this day was one of them.

Tayla found a photo of herself wearing a “pink” dress. Naturally she decides she wants to wear the “pink” dress. I give her the “pink” dress she asked for and she starts crying because that’s the orange dress not the “pink” one. I calmly (no seriously, I was super calm to start with) explain to her the dress is the same, it has faded and looks orange now because she has worn it so much. This was how the conversation went, be prepared for a lot of repetition, it was just as painful living it!

Tayla, pointing to the dress in the photo: ‘Mum, can I wear this dress?’

Me: ‘Yep, here it is’

Tayla: ‘No, not that one, the pink one’

Me: ‘This is the pink dress; it’s the same dress that’s in the photo’

Tayla, tantrum has begun: ‘No, it’s orange; I want the pink dress’

Me: ‘This is what you were wearing in the photo. When you wear something lots of times the colour changes so it looks different. This dress is the pink dress. It has changed to more of an orange colour, but it’s the same dress.

Tayla, the tantrum is in full swing: ‘But, I want the pink dress’

Me: ‘Yes, this is the pink dress, just a bit orange. The orange dress is the pink dress, the pink dress is the orange dress, it’s the same dress’

Tayla, hands on hips and stomps her feet: ‘No, I want the pink dress’

Me: ‘The pink dress is gone; we don’t have it anymore, you need to wear the ORANGE dress’

This bit dragged on for about half an hour, then I got an answer that I was fooled to believe was the end of the dispute.

Tayla: ‘Ok mummy I will wear the orange dress but I really don’t want to.

Twenty minutes later

Tayla: ‘Mummy where is my pink dress?’

And it started all over again!

Thankfully it’s just a stage but a tricky one at that. They want to be grown up and crave all this independence but then they call you to the toilet to wipe their butt. Threenagers get your shit together, no pun intended!



The f bomb – 7th September, 2016

My three year old knows very well when she is using a ‘naughty’ word, and somehow uses the word in perfect context. She has dropped the f bomb a couple of times, something I have inadvertently taught her, not my proudest Mumma moment. Randomly she yells out ‘Mummy, what the f**k’. Shocked, I tell her off, but I was impressed she used it in perfect context and gestures to compliment her f**k.

I then thought about it, it really wasn’t her fault, she learnt it off me, there was no discipline but teachings, I had to teach her it was a ‘naughty’ word that I should have never said, and she shouldn’t have repeated.

I’m not a fan of kids swearing, they’re are far too innocent for vulgar words and let’s be real, what do they have to swear about? They didn’t get the pink plate to match their pink cup? I don’t want my kid in the playground calling another kid a dickhead, so when my husband shits me, he is now a DH.

Addison, my little inquisitive one: “What does DH mean mum?”

Me: “Oh, it stands for Darling Husband, I just love Daddy so much” then, I mutter dickhead to myself.

So, in order for this not to happen I need to stop swearing…in front of them. Sometimes I get so pissed it just flies out. Like, today I cleaned the house, within two minutes there were cracker crumbs all over the floor, cleaning fiasco, why do we bother? So, I have become really good at finishing sentences in my head.

Me: “Girls, I just finished mopping, please sit down and eat your crackers” (self talk – for f**ksake how hard is it to sit and eat?)

Me: “Who threw the crackers on the floor?” (Self talk -of course it was you, you’re such a shithead at times!!)

Motherhood is a hard gig, I’m learning I need to choose my words carefully and make a conscious effort to be more vigilant as my words are shaping my young girls.



Third time ‘round – 31st August, 2016

I craved another baby! I would look at pregnant women and be in awe, I wanted one more, one more pregnancy, one more birth and one more baby experience. At times I would go off the idea out of fear. How could I pull this off? How could I manage another baby with school drop off /pick up and all that goes hand in hand with kids and a newborn baby? My heart races when I type this as it STRESSES me out. The single me would handle stress with a girls night out, now, three kids later I need a therapist and medication! It’s a lot to manage, but it’s definitely worth it.

Pregnancy third time round is not remotely exciting. I was over it three months in, the only thing that did excite me were the ultrasounds. Nothing sounds as magical as a baby’s heartbeat in your womb (putting aside two whining toddlers watching the screen waiting for Peppa Pig to come on) it’s truly a beautiful moment. Moments can get ruined so easily though…my obstetrician looked at me in sympathy when he announced it was another girl. His exacts words “Oh no, another girl. You’ll need to try again!” My exact thought, “You’re a dick, thankfully I’m not adding to the dick ratio!”

Life with three kids is crazy, chaotic, yet fulfilling. Every day I choose my battles, you have to. Tayla loves wearing whatever she likes and gives zero f**ks on co-ordination, if she wants to wear pink on red, spots with stripes, ain’t no one going to stop her. Addison has no sense of urgency, this shits me to tears, but again I need to pick my battles in order to stay sane. Charlotte is a cat napper, she has thirty minute cat naps and on cue she is up, she doesn’t fit in like everyone says a third child does.

EVERYONE told me the third child is easy, they will just “fit in”. I took that statement literally and thought my new addition would be a breeze and just fit in with us. And, what I have learnt in five months is that is utter bullsh*t. Breakfast time I get Addison and Tayla their breakfast and while they sit there and feed themselves independently I need to puree Charlotte’s fruit and mix it in with rice cereal as she cries impatiently. Solids irritate me, it’s that extra thing to prepare, to remember to do, to mix up so they’re not getting the same thing every day. Why can’t we just give them steak at three months and be done with it? No, they definitely do not just “fit in”, but it is just a phase, a baby phase that goes by all too quickly.

I truly believe God only gives us what we can handle. I apparently can handle three girls, so let the fun begin!


Mumma’s mind – 28th July 2015

Seven o’clock and they’re still asleep. I should go check on them. What if they’ve suffocated themselves, did I leave the heater on and now they’re dehydrated, should I go check on them? I should get up, but this feels so good, oh which one is that? Wish they slept for longer!

Why ask for toast if you know very well you want cereal. I need to be stricter, they waste too much food, I should starve them, show them photo’s of kids living in third world countries. That won’t help, they’re only little, it could mess with them…what should I have, toast, I don’t want their f**king toast, but I hate wasting food. Hello chocolate muffin, I forgot I bought you, now to devour you in the privacy of my pantry, this is why you’re fat, don’t eat in the pantry!

Where is the other f**king sock? I really need to stop swearing… Thank God they have no idea what I’m thinking, you little f**kers ha ha, I entertain myself! I can’t believe you slapped me, I would have never done that to my mum and, you, you need to start wearing knickers! You kids are so spoilt today that’s the problem, generation x we are f**ked up! Spoiling our kids with toys and treats and wonder why the play up and turn into spoilt shits. No more toys until their birthdays or Christmas, I wanted to get a train set from Kmart, they had that cheap, see you’re the problem, bloody Kmart, stop selling cheap stuff it’s ruining my parenting, I’m going to ban myself from Kmart, but I love those blue outdoor chairs they just got in, ok after tomorrow I’m banning myself.

They look so cute, they really are good kids, I love them so much, I love when they cuddle each other, so sweet. I’m an asshole, they’re so little and innocent, I’m so lucky…How many times do I need to tell her to put her clothes in the laundry basket, ouch, these bloody blocks, they have way too many toys, I need to find a charity and give them away. Nope it’s definitely not me! No more toys until their birthdays!

I need to do the dishes, I should do a load of washing too and I have ironing. What should we have for dinner… oh Real Housewives of OC are on tonight, I’ll record it, I need to start using series link, what was I just about to do…

A judgemental world – 24th June 2015

As parents we are open for judgment. It’s a time in our lives where we’re going to get introduced to a world of insensitive and arrogant people who feel we will benefit from their derogatory and offensive comments. But, trust me, we won’t. No one knows how to raise your kids better than you.

I feel the judgmental stares when I discipline my kids in public, and I’ll admit sometimes I sound like a psycho, but let’s be honest, some days are so much harder than others. Some days it feels like my kids gang up on me and have a schemed plan to be intolerable shits together. On these days I lose my shit, other days I have the patience of Mary Poppin’s and I actually surprise myself. It’s hard work and we all parent differently which is why it’s so easy to judge rather than support each other.

Let’s try not to be so judgmental yet have an appreciation for everyone’s methods of madness!


Fighting the flab – 29th May 2015

I was a little hesitant to post this blog as it’s candidly raw and an ‘in the moment’ blog of what is going on right now… ‘Fighting the flab’. Then, I remembered, the whole point of my blogs are to keep them real and honest so they’re relatable and reassuring. So, here goes…

After I gave birth to Tayla (second child) I was eager to lose the extra weight. By her first birthday party I was getting to my goal weight and was five kilos off my pre baby weight. I was even confident enough to wear shorts and a top that showcased my Mumma boobs (let’s be real, they will sadly never be the same), it was the new–found confidence as a Mumma that was shining through. I was the most confident I had been. EVER!

Coming so close to reaching my pre baby weight everything slowly turned to shit and the confidence was getting stripped away from me. It’s these feelings that make you want to dislike ‘that’ friend that posts the cringe worthy “I fit in my pre baby jeans”, seriously; unless that button popped off, I don’t want to hear about it.

I am currently fifteen kilos heavier, which puts me close to my pregnant weight. I feel self conscious and disgusting; I loathe looking in the mirror or seeing a glimmer of my reflection. I told myself to never buy bigger sized clothing, that’s the trap. Over the last few months I’ve bought bigger sized clothing and fallen into that trap. So, how did it all start? My husband was a FIFO worker for a year and on a gruelling roster that was made to challenge a young family. It was hard, lonely and depressing. Our new lifestyle added to my anxiety and made me fall in a deep depression. I was prescribed an anti-depressant where I had an appetite of a pregnant lady (no pun intended). I gained ten kilos from nothing other than eating my emotions and from a medication that wasn’t working for me, but a great advocate for weight gain.

Sickened by my weight gain I resorted to fad diets from shakes, soup diets, Atkins and literally starving myself only to binge the next day. I was slowly gaining weight, slow and consistent. I took it upon myself to wean off the anti-depressants, it was a huge factor with my weight gain. Coming off the medication my depression got worse and worse and worse, more weight gain and more involuntary thoughts clouding up my mind and dedicating some lousy decisions.

I desperately want to get back into shape. I used to rock a skimpy out fit in bed. It made me feel sexy and feminine, these days I hide under the blankets and slap my husband on the hand if attempts to touch me around my waist. No man should ever have to feel a self inflicted muffin top.

Now, I’m on a new anti-depressant that has proven to work well and I’m starting a new diet of eating healthy, a life style change. Let’s not sugar coat it, this journey will be a long one, some days I will give into the temptation of chocolate and other days I will have more will power than I gave myself credit for. Fingers crossed it’s more of these days.

Here is to a happy and healthier life and to the skimpy outfit I will fit into again!


She’ll be right, 18th May 2015

After countless “she’ll be right” fails from my husband, I have gained a new-found confidence as a mother. When situations arise with the kids I look to him for reassurance, sometimes doubting my own judgement and wanting a second opinion. When looking to him for advice or his mere input, his approach has a tendency to be laid back and dismissive. Everything is reassured with the infamous words, “she’ll be right”.

She’ll be right. What the fuck is that? Are men too lazy to respond with a dignified answer? I hear this cringe worthy one liner most days. One of these situations happened when I gave my daughter peanut butter for the first time. I have a family history of anaphylaxis so I wanted to be prepared if my daughter reacted. According to the “she’ll be right” philosopher I was over reacting.

I put a small amount of peanut butter on a tea spoon and handed it to her; she put it in her mouth and spat it out as soon as she felt the texture. The quick taste and trace of it on her tongue was enough to make her lips swell and red faint spots began to appear around her mouth. I was adamant she was having a reaction. Worried, I looked at my husband and asked him if we should give her claratyne (that I bought as a psychotic, paranoid mumma does!). My prince charming replies “She’ll be right”.  Following my instinct I get the claratyne and syringe from the short distance of the cupboard and see her lips had worsened and her spots had turned bright red. Within minutes it was working, her spots had cleared up and swelling had reduced.

Following up with  my GP and then being referred to an allergist it was confirmed she is anaphylactic – an epic “she’ll be right” fail from my husband.

My husband is a hands on dad, I’m incredibly blessed, but sometimes Mumma knows best!


The asshole at the playground, 17th April 2015

There is always that one asshole child at the playground. I’m not saying my child is perfect by any means, but it makes a difference the way the parent reacts, or in this case, doesn’t react. When my children are being shits I will be sure to tell them off and give appropriate discipline, but there are some mothers who will play utter oblivion. Let’s be honest it’s so much easier to pretend you don’t hear your child name call another kid, or ignore the fact your kid continues to push in the queue for the slide. Parenting isn’t meant to be easy it requires effort and a lot of it. I think you know if your kid is an asshole child, don’t you? I’ll admit I have a placid child and the other one is feisty (hmm, not sure where that comes from?!). As a parent at times it is my job to tame the feisty child and teach the placid child how to be assertive; aka push “the asshole child” off the slide.

Yesterday at the park I had a play date with a girlfriend and her three beautiful girls. Then, there were more kids walking over to the playground. For the few hours we were there one little girl continued to be nasty. Snide remarks fell out of her little mouth, pushing and shoving along with an attitude of a teenager – she would have been four years old, tops! I was encouraging the girls to ignore her, but it just wasn’t happening. The “asshole child” was building a tent out of sticks. Our daughters were enthralled in her shitty tent. Then the remarks continued, along the lines of ‘Go away’, ‘Don’t play with us’ and many more deflating and cruel comments to our innocent girls. The best I came up with was ‘You’re a nasty little girl. Addison, mummy is going to buy you a pink tent with pink sparkles, it will be amazing. Nothing like this one made out of sticks’. Very mature I know, it was the build up over the few hours of witnessing shitty behaviour from the girl and her oblivious mother, I just couldn’t help myself. Now I need to find a bloody pink tent with pink sparkles!

It’s so hard to sit back and watch our children be mistreated by others. As parents it’s our job to protect our kids and teach them how to be assertive. Let’s face it, kids can be assholes, school yards are evident of that. Unfortunately our children will be spoken to cruelly by others. Thankfully we hold the power more than we think. As parents it is so important we praise our kids every day. I know my daughters eyes light up just by telling them how much I love them and how special they are.

Praise your children every day; tell them how clever, special, beautiful, talented and perfect they are. They are such beautiful blessings and need to be told until they believe it, and then, every day after that.


Let it go – anxiety and depression, 23rd February 2015

It can be overwhelming to have an avalanche of emotions whilst living in motherhood chaos. Taming a toddler tantrum when you’re fighting your own tears can be a great recipe for everything to turn to shit. Some days, that’s just what happens.

Some days I get challenged down to my very core, even the day to day tasks can make me feel overwhelmed. Anxiety and depression is somewhat manageable, after kids, it really takes it to a whole new level. So, how do we do it? I have absolutely no idea! I’m still learning ways to adjust to motherhood with these emotions in the mix and it’s proving to be hard to say the least. As my three year old chants from the movie Frozen ‘Let it go’, it’s the best thing to do. Let it fucking go! Whether it be your compulsive urge to have the house looking immaculate, well you’re setting yourself up to fail right there (I mopped today within minutes my two year old spills watermelon on the floor – took a deep breath in and I had to let that shit go!) or if it’s putting an unnecessary time frame or something that really doesn’t matter, let it go. Where you have control, let it go.

It’s often the people who have never experienced such feelings of anxiety and depression, are the first to misjudge the intense suffering, torment and pain that can be endured. It saddens me to think of all the Mumma’s out there who suffer silently, it’s a horrible feeling that has been misconstrued for far too long. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all have our struggles, the Mumma’s who appear to have their shit together are only sugar coating their problems. We’re human, we are all messed up somehow, the good thing, we’re not alone!

Take care of YOU; you’re more important than you think.


Five year wedding anniversary, 16th of January 2015

Today marks my five year wedding anniversary. Five years may not seem like a long time to some, but to me, five years is a long time and needs to be recognised and celebrated. Every wedding anniversary should be celebrated! You’re married with kids (or even without) and you’ve reached another year of staying together, another milestone, good on you! Marriage is hard work and ought to be acknowledged.

Five years later and we are still learning the art of love, the importance of listening and the wisdom you can attain from communication. When times get tough it’s so easy to abandon a relationship and put all of your attention onto the kids. It’s a balancing act I am still trying to figure out. People who make it seem effortless are full of shit, it’s that simple. Like anything, for things to work out they need persistence, patience and passion. We have had our fair share of up’s and down’s and today we get to celebrate another year we’ve made it work!

Marriage is invaluable and can be taken for granted. Hold it with both hands and make it work, for you, your partner and most importantly the kids.

Relationships really are work, if you put the effort in the results can amaze you.