mirror

When I’m yanked from my bed at 5am, for the 108th day in a row, my mind quickly gives me the abridged version of things I should remember to do: change nappies, coffee, attempt breakfast, coffee, squeeze unwilling octopus into clothes x 2, coffee… I rub remnants of yesterdays makeup from my eyes, and wonder how permanent the bags under them will be, and if it was possible to die from prolonged periods of sudden, forcible 5am wakeage… When I look in the mirror, I’m sometimes hit with the fact that I don’t know who I am anymore.

To my husband, I’m the woman he once proposed to on a freezing day in Clonmacnoise, overlooking the river Shannon, surprising her while she messed around on the chair where the Pope gives his address. Now does he see me as the woman with the sagging tummy, and the nipples that gather dirt from the floor, unless an industrial bra acts as a sheepdog, rounding them up, and pointing them in the right direction?

To my parents, I’m the daughter who once danced her way through life, who now seems a little reclusive. I can see it in my mum’s eyes, and hear it in her unspoken words when she telephones me for the tenth time in a week-does she see me as sometimes sad, often afraid?

To my old friends, I was once someone who would always want to be at the party, and who was always at the end of the phone when life went topsy turvey, or everything was belly up. Now do I not hear from them because I’m to be cast aside, because having had a family reclassifies my status as friend, and I’ve been refiled under ‘B’ for Boring?

To my children I am everything. Head chef, sous chef, waitress, entertainment officer in chief, health and safety enforcer, giver of attention, love and cuddles bearer, changer of the TV channels, keeper of the snacks, toy fight referee, protector from other children/other children’s hormonal nutty mums/subliminal sexist messages from Topsy and Tim. I’m on demand 24/7 for their every wish… They don’t know me as anyone else.

Not only do I bear the physical scars from being a mum, it has changed my entire soul. I’m struggling to get used to the person who looks back at me in the mirror, who doesn’t only look physically different, but whose entire being is so different. I constantly question who I am.

Do I not like going out anymore because I’m really too tired, and because I’m making a natural progression into ‘staying in more,’ or because if I do go out, I know I’ll spend the whole evening fiddling with my outfit, trying to hide the weight I’ve spent 2 years trying to lose unsuccessfully, which I’m so embarrassed about?

Do I want to stay in because drinking too much wine in the comfort of my own home will take the edge off a terrible day, and because watching television to escape from the daily monotony is more exciting? Because watching the complicated and exciting love lives of teenage vampires, and following the exploits of a blind vigilante assassin, are way more exciting than having to think about the next few months worth of scheduled soft play visits, isn’t it?

Does it make me a bad person, and awful mother, for sometimes waking up and not wanting to parent, when it is solely my job to do so, and the role I have chosen in life? Sometimes all I want is a holiday from being a parent, or at least a day in a dark room, all by myself, with no noise (and preferably hot vampires for company.)

I have so many questions, and some days feel so lost. So yes, when I look in the mirror, I don’t always recognise the person looking back. But that’s ok, because being a mum does change absolutely everything you thought you knew about yourself. I’m taking baby steps towards accepting the physical changes-probably a wardrobe overhaul, and less mooning over size 10 clothes I wore 5 years ago would help. Yes, sometimes I wake up at 5am and mutter expletives under my breath because I’d rather stay in bed. A lot of the time I’m really antisocial, and for that I apologise-I’m working on it. A lot of the time I don’t know what I’m doing, which in turn makes me worried that I’m messing my children up, or will inadvertently do something to scar them for life. I worry and panic more than I ever thought possible, and question everything I do. But that’s ok, because I’m sure it’s an unspoken rule of motherhood that most people feel the same way. I’m still working out how my new self fits into my new role. I’m still working out how the people I love around me see me. While I’m working it out, I’ll keep telling the strange reflection in the mirror that she may not get all the answers, but when two smiling little faces come and look into it beside her, she’s not doing too bad of a job really…!

Thanks for reading.

xoxo

lena collage

There’s loads of things in my life that I’d like to change, the list is probably quite long. But, I’m prioritising-these are the four things currently on the top of my wish list of life improving change right now, that would really improve the quality of my life if addressed!

  1. My Husband’s Snoring.

This has seriously gotten out of hand-to the point of probable divorce if he can’t just STOP. BLOODY. SNORING. Mr ‘Decibel’ W (as his new street name will be,) can probably be heard by the hard of hearing living in Australia, such is the ferocity of the noise. The sofa is currently sporting his favourite pillow, and starting to show signs of indentation of a ‘Decibel’ W shape, where he spends most nights sleeping on it. I actually thought I was handling it quite well, but when I happened to ask him the other morning why the heck he was being such a mopey off hand git, he announced that he had actually been worried for his life when I’d kicked him out of bed the night before. It transpired that in a sleep deprived haze of being tortured by his incessant rumblings, when I thought I’d said ‘darling, you appear to be emanating a slightly irritating noise from your general face area,’ what I’d actually done was shouted ‘shut up, shut up, shut uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup, I hope when you’re on your way to work tomorrow a lion rips your throat out so I never have to listen to this racket anymore, now get oooooooooooooooooooooout.’ I’m sure he must’ve been exaggerating, as I can’t remember this happening, but if it’s having that much of an effect on my sanity that I’m lashing out like a crazed banshee who has had as much sleep as someone with a newborn baby, then we need to address it. Not even the thought of star fishing in the bed on my own is enough to want to keep ‘Decibel’ W on the sofa…

2. The Urban Fox Population.

Ok, so the urban fox population in our neighbourhood is getting out of hand. In fact, I think they’re plotting some kind of gangland takeover, and I’m waiting for the day they start hammering on my door asking for protection money. If it wasn’t enough that the Waitrose leftovers that they scavenge from people’s bins, clearly doesn’t agree with their stomachs, (judging from the splodgy messes they leave littering the streets for me to push my pushchair wheels through,) they are now trying to mark their territory by leaving massive steamers on my front door step. They are stepping way over the line here. In fact, I’ve come to think that they may be in cahoots with the local toddlers, as their behaviour is very similar: The foxes poo in inappropriate places, as do toddlers. They run around screaming in the middle of the night-I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve dashed out of bed thinking that one of my toddlers is having night terrors, only to see them both snoozing, and look out the window to see a pack of unruly foxes living it up, probably having a poo off, in the street outside. They also hover around next to you, staring you out, and you get a bit freaked out, not knowing which way it’s going to go-a few times I’ve been coming home from the pub, and there has been a fox (probably the leader of the fox mafia,) staring at me while I nervously try and get the front door open. It’s like when I’m in the kitchen anywhere near the snack cupboard, I get stared out by the toddlers, and I don’t know if they will turn around and go back to what they were doing, or launch a full on attack on me until they’ve seen the entire contents of the cupboard. Finally, I find myself doing a Bristol Stool Chart analysis of the fox’s poo, just like I do with my toddlers. They’re basically the animal form of toddlers. I wish them no harm, I just can’t help thinking my life would be easier if they were living it up in the countryside somewhere (the foxes, not my toddlers,) where they wouldn’t launch a tirade of tyranny on the innocent residents of the city ‘burbs.

Bristol_stool_chartNo 4: Toddlers and Foxes on a normal day. No 7: Toddlers and Foxes after a Waitrose binge.

3. I wish WordPress wouldn’t be such a dick.

Seriously, why do I feel like I need a Ph.D in categorising, a Masters in menus and navigation bars, an honours degree in plugins and widgets, and a nobel prize for coding, just to write a flipping blog post. WordPress is responsible for 90% of my grey hairs, wine consumption, number of swear words per minute, and need for diazepam, since it took over as the most stressful thing in my life next to being a mum. There must be someone out there who can make all of this just a type and go situation. In fact, scrap the snoring as the cause of divorce, I think ‘reason for divorce: WordPress,’ might just be the first divorce in history to go down this way…

4. I need season 6 of Girls not to be the last one.

If you haven’t seen this show, please watch it! Watch it now!!!! It hasn’t even finished yet, and I’m already in that haze of mourning, like when I finished the final Harry Potter book. That feeling of wandering around, with a void so complete you feel like you’ve lost a limb. Already planning on binge watching all of it again and again, until you know it by heart-like Friends,-but that still won’t be enough. I may write begging letters/stalk Lena Dunham until she gets out a restraining order against me, until she agrees that she will continue the show indefinitely. I have never laughed so much, or looked forward to watching anything more, than this show.

That concludes my wish list! If these top four things can be rectified, that will make me extremely happy!!

Thanks for reading!

xoxo

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

 

green room

Director: Jeremy Saulnier

Running Time: 1 hour 35 minutes

Genre: Crime/thriller

Showing: Nationwide, right now!

Cast: Patrick Stewart, Imogen Poots, Anton Yelchin, Alia Shawkat, Callum Turner, Mark Webber.

Me and my husband absolutely love going to the cinema. Before we had children, we went at least four or five times a month, if not more. It’s a massive treat now, to go out and do something we used to skip out and do at the drop of a hat, and I was really excited to go out and review Green Room-a fairly small budget thriller, from indie director Jeremy Saulnier. This falls directly into the category of film that we would usually be drawn to-another bonus!

The film follows a down on their luck punk band, The Ain’t Rights, as they move around, fuelled by siphoned petrol, small amounts of money from gigs, long conversations about their ‘desert island’ music, and not much else. Where the film finds them, they have just finished a gig, and have no more lined up. The owner of the venue they’ve just played at, arranges one for them, at a club in the middle of nowhere, which happens to be in a nest pod full of neo-nazis.

As soon as the band arrive, the tension is palpable, and you kind of just want them to turn around and leave… You think they’re going to be able to do just that, when they finish their not particularly well received gig, but do set about heading back to their van. But in quickly returning to pick up a phone left behind in the green room, one of the band members stumbles on a murder scene. The entire band are then holed up in the green room, with the body, the murdered girls best friend, and the club bouncer, Big Justin. They barricade themselves in, when Darcy, (Patrick Stewart,) the leader of the supremacist pack is hurriedly called in, and it becomes clear that they are going to be part of the mess that needs ‘clearing up.’

I’d heard that this film was violent, really violent. Now, I know violence is subjective, but I was kind of expecting from hearing this, that it was going to be the unjustified, vomit inducing violence, found in films like Hostel. But this was an incorrect assumption-it was violent, but apart from a scene involving an arm and a door (where I could see Mr W visibly screwing up his face and wincing out of the corner of my eye,) the violence befit the characters, and the situation, and was in no way gratuitous. There were some scenes involving dogs, but apart from the odd spatter of blood, a lot of it was implied.

With the band being trapped in the green room, there is a clear shift from panic, when they realise they are surrounded, to sheer desperate acts of fight or flight. You can easily feel how desperate they are to escape, and the pure claustrophobia of the situation. The acting is fantastic, but as the leader of the gang, I felt like I needed Patrick Stewart to be more menacing. Yes, he calmly handed out kill orders to his neo-Nazi minions, but I didn’t find him particularly terrifying, and I think he needed to be!

This was, in my opinion, a really, really good film, and if this genre of film is up your street, embrace a bit of suspense, violence, and a very cast against type Patrick Stewart, and catch it while it’s on!      

What I give it out of 10: 8

I was given cinema tickets in exchange for a review, but I have given a totally honest review of my thoughts on the film!