The truth is, I started this blog as a reaction to other mummy blogs. There are some good ones out there. There are some great ones out there. There are some that would work better as a diary. And there are some that take this whole parenting thing so seriously that I want to strap them down and beat them around the head with the 1985 hardcover version of “Dr Spock’s Baby and Childcare” book.
That sounds brutal. The truth often is.
This blog is a reaction to those blogs. The ones who take this all too seriously. The ones who think we care about every belch and bowel movement their babies make. The ones who portray parenting as some sort of blissed-out spiritual experience; where every day we learn some wonderful new lesson and are feeling really Zen, even though the fucking house has damn near burnt down and the kids are pounding the bathroom door with roundhouse kicks because you decided to take a piss by yourself.
I mean sure, sometimes a particularly difficult day with young kids feels like a months-long peyote trip, but parenting doesn’t automatically gift you with some great insight about the universe. It’s just breeding. People have done this shit for millennia.
Who am I?
I’m a late-30’s mum of two boys; 5 years and 3 years old respectively. My oldest son is the product of IVF and my youngest son is the product of nature. My oldest son talks too much and my youngest son was born with unilateral deafness. I work from home as a freelance writer and I’ve been a blogger and fanzine-writer since the 90’s. Before I had kids I was obsessed with building the best indie record collection ever, but then the internet came along and ruined all of that. Everyone is a freaking hipster these days.
Check out some of my most popular posts.
I’ve been named one of the Top 100 online creatives in Australia as part of Kidspot Voices 2015, and a Top 30 finalist in Parenting & Style.
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