Don't Fuck With Me World

I spend most of my days pretty certain in the knowledge that every mother in the world is doing a better job than me. It's a fact. I know I'm doing OK and I know they say that you just have to be 'good enough' but it seems like every other mother is winning at parenthood and I'm well, coping. I feel like the kid in class who has no idea what's going on because they missed a month of school with glandular fever. I feel like I'm playing catch up and just as I've figured it out, you guys are all over something else. I feel like I don't read enough with her, that I don't play enough with her, that I'm too worried about the house work to dedicate every waking minute to her learning, her development, her emotions. I worry that the TV is on too much, that the radio is always playing. I worry that she sits in her buggy too much or that she's not getting enough fruit or that I give her pasta more than I should. I worry that I don't talk to her enough, or take her swimming enough, or that I haven't taught her baby sign.

I'm sure I should be cooking with lentils and spelt more often and giving her vitamins everyday (I forget to give her vitamins a lot!) and I'm certain that she hates me a little more every time I drop her at nursery. I know she's looking at me and thinking, 'Really, these toys...AGAIN?' and she is DEFINITELY quietly praying on the first star she sees at night for a momma who does fingerprinting with her and baking and clay-modelling and underwater swimming. She's totes wishing that she did more classes and go to hang out with other babies, rather than her boring old mum all the time.

I wonder if I talk to her enough; I wonder if she should know her alphabet by now or why isn't she saying 'Momma' and looking at me rather than Bunny Bear? I don't know if she should be doing animal noises yet or if she should have realised that not all animals with four legs and fur are cats. Now that she's walking, should I even be putting her in a buggy? Who the fuck knows, I think. I for sure don't know and I'll be damn if I'm going to go on bloody Mumsnet/Netmums and ask those sodding mommas.

So I muddle my way through another day and think of the hypocratic oath: Do No Harm. I'll start with that, I think to myself. And sigh.

And then I smack myself in the face and think, "Don't fuck with me world. I know that other mothers feel exactly the same way and you know what? I'm a motherfucking sorcerer and so is each and every single one of you."

Happy Friday Small-havers.