I think this pretty much sums me up right now.
Let’s face it, right from the off I was never going to win any ‘best mum’ awards. I’ve seen enough blogs and scrolled through enough Pinterest boards to know that those awards belong to the parents who find a style and follow it wholeheartedly, the ones who bake fresh broccoli scones and carrot pancakes and whatever for their toddlers and actually get them to eat it, the ones who hand-paint elaborate murals on the nursery wall and gave birth to an insta-latching baby in a birth pool surrounded by nature whilst whale music played and a doula murmured ancient Swahili childbirth chants into her ear (or something like that, anyway).
That was never going to be me. I made up my own parenting style, that basically means we do whatever is easiest for us as a family. I can’t bake to save my life, and ‘fuck it, another gingerbread man can’t hurt her’ is a regular utterance in this household. I bought pink vinyl star stickers meant for cars to go on her wardrobe instead of a mural, and hallucinated polar bears in socks during labour, not brought on by Swahili voodoo chants but by the gas and air I needed to get me through that syntocin drip as I simultaneously sang Hakuna Matata and told D he was getting on my tits.
But if there’s one thing I do pretty well, it’s be an okay mom. I come home from work and I love nothing more than to sit with SB, teaching her to walk, laughing at all the little habits and quirks she’s picked up, reading with her, watching Cbeebies with her, just generally marvelling at her.
When I’m at work, my desk is covered in pictures of her. They’re literally all over the soundboards around my desk. Whenever work gets tough, I remember that I’m making money so that she can have nice things, and a secure home and food on the table. I may not be with her twenty four seven, and she may be more likely to get a Birdseye Potato Waffle from me rather than a sweet potato scone or whatever healthy foods the crunchy mamas are dishing up these days. So she doesn’t have an intricate jungle design on the walls of her bedroom, and any craft I make with her will not be likely to end up on Pinterest.
I will never be the world’s best mum, but I’m the best mum for SB. I’m the world’s okayest mum right now, and I couldn’t be happier.
One thing’s for sure though – when I’m partnered up with the world’s okayest dad (who is actually a contender for world’s best, although he’d never believe me), we become a pretty unstoppable force of parenting. Even if our child ate cake today.
And a gingerbread man.
And a Babybel.
Like I said… okayest. Not best.