I am aware that the majority (probably all) of you will be feeling desperately sorry for my poor husband. Wondering what kind of manipulation and brain washing a wife must have to do in order for him to suggest such a thing. However, please let me put an end to any sympathy you may have by revealing that he is at it aswell and usually more often and for longer periods of time.
Ellie's piece resonated with me on a lot of levels, and I am so proud of her for advocating for something that ALL women and babies, of all socio-economic levels, everywhere, need and deserve. But it also got me thinking that something continues to be missing from this conversation. (I can say this, knowing that Ellie will have my back!)
We spend nine months trying to live like organic angels verging on born again virgins, doing everything we can to grow a healthy little human. Buying into every miracle cream, vitamin and birthing class and book going. What keeps us committed through all the dry parties, the charcoaled steaks and inedible non runny eggs?
As if there is not enough pigeon holing of us mums already, as we endure fellow mums, relatives, friends and the old woman down the street trying to shoe horn us into a motherhood "type". We now have the latest stereotyping on the mum block that is "Momstrology". Yes you read right ladies. "Momstrology".
Since retiring from international sport, I didn't think an emotional drive that had enabled my accomplishments, would ever absorb me again. But the day my baby boy was born and I became a mother, something even more powerful enveloped me. It's impossible to describe this overwhelming feeling, but every mother will know it.
I am so tired I want to crawl up my own ass and have a nap. Yes, not the first place that springs to everyone's mind as a retreat of choice. However, I need somewhere, dark, un-crowded and most importantly somewhere no one (namely my small humans) would even think I would be. A place they would be too shit scared to even look.
When I was pregnant with my second child, I thought about perfect and good. So this time around, I called three friends and made them promise: when my daughter was three months old, they were to call and ask me if she'd had any formula. I would not lie. If the answer was no, they had to come over and give it to her themselves.
Then last Summer, for the first time, I found myself looking around at other women and comparing. I felt conscious of every little lump and bump - three kids in five years can do that. Discussing this with two friends some months later, I expressed how uncomfortable I had felt wearing a bikini last Summe...