Squishels & Me Squishels & Me

...follow her lead...


Labels and Boxes

Take a moment to create a list of all the different kinds of mums you know.

The perfect mum, the slacker mum.

The working mother, the overprotective mother.

The free-range, the hippy, the hipster.

List
List

The perfect mum.

She has the perfect lunchbox all laid out, to go with the uniform that looks like a tailor laid it out and ironed it. Their kid heads off to their amazingly perfect private school, from their perfect suburban house.

Perfect House
Perfect House

Now then, the slacker drops her kids off in trackies or pyjamas, and hands them a handful of coins for the canteen. Even if they managed to find a school top, those socks just don't match.

Odd Socks
Odd Socks

The overprotective mum, she lives in another world.

A strange bubble where germs and dangers lurk, and their child exists within a different space. A place that must be kept clear of all these nasties, so their kid just might be safe.

Dirty Feet
Dirty Feet

That's a nice list.

It's also completely wrong.

There's only one word out of the above that matters: mum.

We have gone through a period of time in which some kind of bond or attachment has made another human completely dependent on us for everything for at least the first couple of years of their life.

I've tried so hard to fit neatly into one box: the natural mum.

We bedshare, we use cloth nappies, we breastfeed on demand till natural term (hopefully), we did baby-led weaning and we baby-wear.

We're considering alternative schooling, and have a large majority of toys in a shade of not plastic.

However, I can't afford to provide my child with organic food, I don't have the energy to make fresh bread every day [I tried that once - no-one ate it :'( ], we vaccinate and I medicate whilst breastfeeding.

There's so much pressure to be a certain kind of mum around that it's so difficult when you just don't fit squarely into a box.

But it doesn't need to be that way.

All that matters, for you, and for me, is that we remember that thing we share. The thing that can wear you down, wear you out. Or have you crying happy tears at some awful hour of the morning.

We're mothers.

Squishels & Me
Squishels & Me

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