In 1998 a pretty wholesome-looking, double-denim-wearing Irish girl-band released a song called ‘C’est La Vie’. The accompanying music video showed the four band members dancing around a field with a puppy while they tease a teenage boy. It all seemed pretty innocent, if somewhat nonsensical, and became a hit, particularly with tweens and young teens.
Fast-forward 15 years, and this song has been confirmed as being all about sex.
If last week was about a pre-emptive strike, this week has been in the battlezone of meals out and Easter holidays.
So how did I fare fitness-wise?
Oh so true. SAHMs may make it look easy to outsiders…but it’s a heck of a lot of work, as is obvious when, as Mandy writes, the ‘invisible work’ is not done.
Because I’m the primary caregiver in this parenting partnership, half of what I do goes unnoticed and unappreciated. Usually it’s the mother who stays home with the kids, or only returns to work part-time or on flexi-time, and the mother who becomes the expert on her children and home.
Sometimes, I hate it. I really, really hate it. Because it’s so easy for me to shoulder the load that there’s a perpetual slide, so on days like to today something small happens, like Sebastian not going down for his nap on time while I am out, and I totally lose the plot.
I lost the plot today because if Sebastian doesn’t go down for his nap on time then I have to decide whether to wake him up before he’s had enough sleep and deal with a nightmarish toddler for the rest of the day, all so he can go…
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Let Toys Be Toys:
Also on Facebook and Twitter.
An interesting article… The oversimplified ‘myth of motherhood’, particularly in the nuclear-family-orientated society, is both fascinating and slightly terrifying…
My latest article is up at Daily Life and also Essential Baby:
By sharing private and difficult moments as mothers we create a more complete picture of the reality of motherhood – it ultimately frees us all. The ugly complaints, if told wisely, can be witness to the stamina of this extraordinary relationship. But the fear in us in disclosing is palpable – that we might be frauds and that our secret moments exclude us from being good mothers. For an instant, you are unsettlingly close to the truly dysfunctional mother, and you see the dangerously fragile state that she must teeter in, and how damaging she is to her children.
afterninemonths 