NaPoWriMo day 18

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Day 18

I sit & see the room
through the haze of steam
from my morning coffee.
I take less milk these days,
preferring to taste the bitterness
that keeps me going these days.
Wrapped still in my duvet,
I clutch the mug like a buoy,
a lifeline in these days of little sleep.
I leave the room dark until my first coffee is finished,
& then rise,
stretch
& start.

NaPoWriMo day 17

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Day 17

I watch dawn creep over the garden,
changing shades of ink to their spring colours.
The sun peeks over rooftops,
seeming to stretch her beams out
lazily, fingertips of light
reaching out to start the day.
As she grows stronger,
the sky turns purple to gold,
navy to a silvery blue
& the world comes alive. 

NaPoWriMo day 16

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Day 16

I watch her with fascination,
her body moves like liquid,
poised on her toes,
each movement a ballet in itself.
She is grace embodied;
every twitch of her muscles
is deliberate,
poetic,
a joy to watch,
a treat for the eyes.
She is perfection
in motion.
Off stage she is shy,
her shoulders rounded,
eyes fixed to the floor
to ward off contact.
Her walk is the opposite
to her dance;
halting & painful,
a girl in need,
waiting for its moment
to take the stage once more,
& fly.

NaPoWriMo day 15

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Day 15

I lie awake
with a thousand thoughts,
flowing through my head
like butterflies
caught on the wind.
I need to sleep,
my head a flurry of activity
keeps me up,
eyes unable to close.
Every noise makes me startle
& shakes me back to wakefulness
once more.
I make patterns
on the walls with my mind,
see shapes in shadows,
with eyes so tired
their bags are like bruises
beneath my lids.
I need to sleep,
but the clock ticks on
towards morning.

NaPoWriMo day 14

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Day 14

It’s hard to admit,
lump in my throat
nasty taste in my mouth
churning stomach
type of admission.
We are no longer friends
& I am sad for it.
But things were said
& not said,
although it was the unspoken
that hurt the worst.
I must confess
there was a time I blamed you
& only you,
but the fault is as much mine,
for allowing you to hurt me
& walk away.
Now let us let go
& be happier apart,
I wish you well.

Mum-shaming has to stop

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Being a mum is a bit of a minefield. You might look at me sideways for saying that, but in spite of how hard it is in general to keep a brand new, helpless human alive every day, it’s also quite difficult to live up to mum-expectations. 

It’s a very odd thing that I have encountered, even before I became a mum, & something that really baffles me.

Picture it – you go through 40 weeks of the intense discomfort of pregnancy, childbirth in whatever way, shape or form it happens to you, get left alone in a hospital bed with a squirming, pink, demanding creature, get sent home probably earlier than you feel ready for & are suddenly hit with the ‘holy fuck I’m an actual mother now’ blues. You turn to a friend or group of friends who are mums themselves thinking you will be welcomed with open arms & a library of advice & are met with brick walls.
Oh you’re not breastfeeding/you’re co-sleeping/using disposable nappies/using cloth nappies/babywearing/using that brand of formula/wipes/bottles/pacifiers/breast pads etc etc etc cue screaming & hair pulling.
I mean REALLY.
We are all mums. There, I said it, it’s out in the open now like an exploded nappy. WE ARE ALL MUMS. Did you hear me or do we need to do it again?

Just like there are different types of fashion sense, different favourite colours, different favourite TV shows, there are always going to be differences. If everyone parented the same then every kid would be the same & every adult would be desperately fucking boring. There would be no variations.

There are obviously, some
rules to follow when it comes to babies; generally as long as they are fed, bathed, clothed & happy, then we’ll done mum, you’re doing a great job. But jesus lads, the mum-shaming has to stop. I give zero fucks as to what way someone else is feeding their child. As long as they are feeding them, then what business is it of mine. Same goes for any other subject I’ve mentioned above.
Is it my business? No!

That’s a question that people need to be asking themselves before giving their oh-so-helpful opinion or advice, unless it’s asked for of course. Just take a split second to ask – is this my business? If the answer is no, then keep the trap shut & skip along on your merry way to raise your kids how you like. & leave me to do it my way, the way I can cope with dealing with my individual little child.

The world has gone mad with the internet & shaming every last thing you can think of, & genuinely getting offended over things that have nothing to do with them. Aside from the actual world issues & daily travesties that happen that we should be worried about, what colour underwear I have on is noone else’s concern.

Ladies, it is hard enough to be a woman & even harder to be a mother without us ganging up on each other. We should be lifting each other up, supporting each other & passing on words of encouragement & help. We should be doing our best to help the new mothers of the world to deal with one of the hardest jobs with the feeling of support behind us rather than wondering who is judging us in the open or behind closed doors.
Life is hard enough, let’s be the kind of women who build each other up. It feels a lot better than tearing each other down, trust me.

NaPoWriMo day 12

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Day 12

She presses her face to the cloth,
comfort in memory
& the scent of her past
clinging to the fabric of her pillow.
Familiar shadows & shapes
twist across walls she knew in childhood,
she finds solace in what she once found frightening, & sinister,
beams of darkness thrown by tree limbs
outside her window.
The wallpaper is faded,
jaded, but hers,
& it seems to her a scent
lingers softly on the paper
of candy sweets & summer warmth,
so tempting
that she lays her cheek on the wall
& breathes it in.
Coming home is a warm swelling
in her chest,
a bittersweet reunion with her
former self, the child in her aching
with the woman she’s become,
& tears rise to her eyes
in protest.

NaPoWriMo day 8, 9 & 10

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NaPoWriMo day 8

My heart breaks
with every cry she utters,
every mewl of unhappiness
cuts me.
The life of a mother is hard.

NaPoWriMo day 9

I curl into sheets warm with the cats fur,
bury my face into her purring
& for the moment that she allows
cuddle her,
before the claws come
as a warning,
not quite painful but guarding,
reminding me that there are
boundaries to being hers.
I shift to the side of her,
still breathing in her catiness
& we sleep in mutual agreement,
comraderie among cats.

NaPoWriMo day 10

Twists of my hair
caught by the wind
fly into my face
in the most irritating manner.
I pull strands
from the corners of my mouth
again,
& flick my fringe from my forehead.
The wind turns against me
once more tugging at my hair
& I sigh,
adjust as best I can
& keep walking.