Those of you who have heard me speak, or know my story at least, will know what a horrible, crappy, shitty, “I want to die” experience I had when I first became a Mum.
(For, like, mooooooooonts! Years even!)
I hated it, the guilt, the feelings of inadequacy and just knowing, without a doubt, just how hopeless I was as a mum. Because everyone told me so.
I dealt with it … long story, will tell it to you one day 🙂
Then I had this parenting gig down pat. I read the books, found the philosophy that suited me, used the information and techniques in the book on my son, and voila! It worked! Hurrah. And I was the best mum in the world!
Then I had number two. And because I was so awesome at applying these techniques and they worked (cos I was so awesome at parenting remember?) I used them on Son Number Two.
Who, it seems, didn’t particularly like these particular techniques and took great delight (I”m sure) in making them work against me, and having a lovely time doing so.
I had to suck up all I’d been telling myself and quit trying to force something onto him that was leaving me in a sobbing puddle on the floor and him laughing gleefully as he tossed toys onto the wall unit and threw broccoli in my glass of wine.
In short. I quit.
And I’m quitting again now. No, not mothering. I feel I have that relatively well “handled” (the term is relative – I am ok with who I am, how I parent and how I manage and deal with stuff. Sure, I Foetal Position occasionally, but I’m ok with me. Mostly).
My business – I quit my business.
(Yes, I have a business – am not just a mummy blogger – it supports other mums and