The Realities Of A Smear Test

So the event usually starts in the waiting room. You walk in and take a look around at all the other women waiting to have their vaginas prodded at and you can’t help but have visions of their fannies in your head. You don’t want them in your head, but you can’t help it as you know they are there for the same reason as you are. You’re going through them one by one. I bet that lady sat in the corner with the red rain coat and short blonde hair has a landing strip. Theres a few older ladies there too. You start imagining old ladies with vagazzle… They’re probably thinking about your fanny too. I hope their imagination does mine justice.

So you sign in. If you’re lucky then you have a self service screen but if not then you tell the nice lady that you’re here for your *whispers* smear test. You may even try to skim round it and just say ‘hi, yes I have an appointment…’ and the lady gets the jist.

So you sit down and the paranoia kicks in. Oh god, did I clean it properly in the shower last night? What if I missed a bit when I shaved? You know, the awkward bit at the bottom of your lips where you have to be extra careful to not cut yourself else it means you’re out of action for 2 weeks and on full time blow job duty. Fuck. Ah well. Deep breathes. Let’s just hope the gyen has forgotten to bring her glasses this morning so she cant see the random tuft of hair from your quick shaving job this morning before the school run.

25 minutes later (if youre lucky with the current state of the nhs #votelabour) your name gets called by a very nice looking health care assistant. You stand up confidently and all the other ladies waiting to be seen give you a sort of solidarity nod and a sympathetic smile as if to say ‘good luck partner’.

On your way to ‘the room’ the health care assistant makes small talk and talks about the weather. You know this because she makes a comment about how it’s a wet morning and she certainly isn’t talking about your hoo haa because you’re definitely not wet down there. You’re as dry as a prune at the thought of having a piece of machinery shoved up your Sheila.

You get to the room and there’s an overpowering smell of febreeze. It sort of reminds you of a teenage boys bedroom; stinks of lynx Africa with undertones of semen. The lady who’s going to be doing the deed introduces herself and you’re quite offended as she places on a face mask. You know, one of those that dentists wear. Does she think I smell? Do I look like I have a smelly vagina? I’m ringing my partner for a confidence boost as soon as this is over.

She asks if you can take your underwear off and sit on the piece of blue paper on the bed. You take your underwear off and you’re not sure where to put it. Do I scrunch them up? Do I fold them? You end up doing a sort of scrunch but a subtle one so it looks like you haven’t done it on purpose.

So you lie down and then your next challenge arises. Oh fuck, where shall I put my hands? Behind my head? No that looks like I’m enjoying it too much. On her head? Nope that reminds me too much of fellatio. You end up settling for crossing your hands on your belly. Sort of casual and relaxed. As if you’re sunbathing and not having your vagina prodded.

She puts the equipment in and you’re actually pleasantly surprised at how painful it isn’t. But then that makes you paranoid. Oh no. Does that mean that my vagina is too loose and I haven’t done my pelvic floor exercises? You accidentally say that out loud and the lady reassures you that she’s used lots of lubricant. Thanks hun.

Before you know it, it’s over and done with. You awkwardly put your knickers back on as if you’ve just had a one night stand. You smile and nod at the lady and hesitantly say ‘….. thanks….?’

received_10212876678265175

Advertisements

Dismantle the toddler-archy

WARNING: Please read this at the risk of your own health. May make uptight humour-lacking people gasp.

Anyone else have a very lovely, beautiful, monstrous, soul destroying little treasure  for a toddler? If your delightful cooing child has not reached this stage then ha ha ha ha ha ha good luck.

Like I love him more than words can say. He brings complete joy into my world in ways that i never thought existed and there is nothing like the bond between a mother and her child. For example he slaps and punches me and throws porridge all over me whilst demanding a DIB DIB (biscuit). I mean if it was any other kind of relationship that would be domestic abuse. But when your toddler does it they’re just ‘learning’ and ‘pushing boundaries’ and ‘being free spirited’. No Susan, my son is just an arse sometimes. I know it, you know it, fuck it, even the nice bloke in the corner shop who claims he loves seeing Freddie everyday knows he’s a little shite at the best of times. Let’s not sugar coat it.

Well I’ve had enough. Once and for all I think mothers and fathers all over the world need to take a stand and say NO we are not taking this anymore, we are the ones in charge! We will not be treated like your slaves anymore!!…. That is until we’ve had enough of their screaming and stomping that we break down in tears, throw them a packet of biscuits and hide under the duvet until all is safe and apologise to them for ever thinking that we deserve the tiniest bit of respect.

Why is is that toddlers are so unpredictable?
Me and Fred were having so much fun the other day jumping in puddles one minute and I was looking at him with such wonder and joy and then all of a sudden he was screaming at me and flipping his shit because I put my empty coke can in the wrong bin. Like sorry pal, the next bin is at least 100ft away and whilst I have you for a son I ain’t got the energy for that.

You wait til you’re a teenager buddy, revenge is sweet.

FB_IMG_1516435609110

New year new me hun xo

So you could say i took a short break from blogging. (Nearly 2 years to be precise)
A lot of things happened. I ran out of things to write about. Life was shit for a very long time and quite frankly I had better things to do at the time like try and figure out what the flying hell I’m doing with my life. I still don’t know what the flying hell I’m doing with my life now but I’m in a job I love and  I finally bagged myself my childhood sweetheart that I’ve fancied the pants off since I was 13 and he also doesn’t really know what the fuck he’s doing with his life so it’s great and at least no one else is gonna steal him from me if we’ve both got nothing going for us. (I’m joking, you’re the best)

So my old blog posts mentioned my cute and gorgeous little baby Freddie. You will not be hearing about him anymore, you will be hearing about my emotionally abusive toddler who is also called Freddie. It’s strange as he’s practically toddler of the class at nursery. All the staff absolutely love him, he’s really popular, exceeding in most things and is a little star. For everyone except me. People say that’s because he feels safe around me to show his true colours. So I tried introducing the belt for a while to implement some scariness to see if he would start being a little star for me but social services got involved.

I joke, I joke… Oh yeah if you’re easily offended then you’ll probably want to go and read another mum’s blog about how amazing it is that so many things go well with quinoa and how if your toddler has peaked a temp then you shouldn’t give them Calpol but you should infact shout some chants from the Himalayan monks or some shite.

When Freddie was a baby I felt so lost that I desperately did everything I could to fit into a certain category. I didn’t know what that category was but they all seemed like mum’s who had their shit together so I followed them. I soon realised that no mum in the entire world has all her shit together. Some mum’s have their shit together in some ways such as being able to breastfeed their baby whilst putting a piece of Ikea flatpack furniture together and other mum’s have their shit together by making a bottle of formula for their baby at 3am whilst writing the shopping list for the week and creating an organic homemade food plan for their baby. Like way to go mum’s. You both have your shit together. I wanted to be like both of you and for a while I was. But now I just chuck biscuits at my child and hide.

I got myself into quite a palava when I realised that these mum’s online weren’t the mum’s for me. Everything I was passionate about up to that point sort of just dissolved around me. It wasn’t important to me anymore because I realised that none of it ever really mattered it was filling a void inside of me for a while. I was so caught up about researching this that and the other and worrying about what the next mum thought of me that I forgot to just enjoy being a mum and doing what I wanted and what was best for me and Freddie.

That’s what your first child teaches you for sure. That so much shit that really mattered to you when you were pregnant and your baby was little really won’t matter when you look back. All that really matters is that you never run out of biscuits and your toddlers tablet is always fully charged.

FB_IMG_1516268589560

What Freddie Wore October 2016

A few of my favourite outfits from October 2016. All my friends and family know that I take pride in what Freddie wears and I love to make sure he looks smart and unique. Today however he decided to spill a smoothie all over himself in public!

img_20161101_091514

T shirt from Little Bird Dungarees from Osh Kosh

img_20161030_073612

img_20161024_132024

Shoes from Baby Zara

img_20161023_104212

T shirt from Ltitle Bird and jeans from H&M

img_20161026_075009

Raglan from Little Bird

img_20161030_073612

All in one from Tu

img_20161031_123148

Boots from Dench Deichmann Coat from Primark and Joggers from Baby Zara

img_20161014_071021

Pyjamas from Little Bird

img_20161009_093155

Vest from Little Bird Joggers from Next and Shoes from Little Bird

Being a Touched Out Mum


I wish I was one of those mums who can deal with spending every minute of every day with my child. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE spending time with Freddie when he’s not being an arse. But I can safely say that by the end of my weekend off work i am ready to run away with nothing but clothes on my back shouting ‘freedom!!!!!’

Sometimes I don’t even know how I managed before I worked when I never spent any time away from freddie. I thought I would be a bad mum if I left him with granny and pops for a few hours. But looking back now I can see that I didn’t cope very well at all and I am a much better mum now that I’ve started listening to my feelings the same way I listen to freddies.

I was always angry, teary and touched out and I would get frustrated with him so easily.  If I ever have another kid I know not to make that mistake. Fuck you society and all your standards of what being a good mum is. You know what, if I need to have a night off once in a.while in order to charge my batteries and be a better mum then that’s what I shall do and you can go fuck yourself if you don’t like it. 

The truth is; adults, kids and babies are all different. We as a society need to stop expecting all mums to fit into this one size fits all because it’s never gonna happen! 

Just because fanny Anne down the road spends every minute of every day with her 6 children and hasnt had a mental breakdown yet doesnt mean im a bad mum for losing my rag and needing time out. Because there are other times I’m splashing in muddy puddles with him, blowing bubbles, giving him kisses, making him healthy organic food for tea (after having McDonald’s for lunch ofcourse) and he knows I love him. He knows this because I tell him a million times a day, he knows this because I work my ass off for him and he knows this because I’m the only parent he’s got who hasn’t given up on him.

We give kids the opportunity of spending time away from the family home with their friends for sleepovers or even just playing in their bedroom on their own so why don’t we give ourself that opportunity without beating ourselves up? (I don’t mean playing in your bedroom by yourself… unless that’s what you want ofcourse!)

I take my hat off to the mums who don’t need time out to themselves. You are amazing and I don’t know how you do it. But I also take my hat off to the mums who admit they’re not perfect and they need time out every now and again. 

And before I get some negative Nancy comment on this; I’m not justifying leaving your newborn baby who has barely left your vag so you can go and get pissed up down your local pub. I 100% advocate spending as much time in the 4th trimester with your baby as possible as it’s such a crucial time to bond. I 100% advocate spending as much time with your kid no matter what age as possible but sometimes it is not possible when you are going to throw them head first out your fucking window. 

To all the touched out mums out there, do whatever you need to do to be the best mum you can be to your kids. They will thank you for it. 

I Am Now A Breastfeeding Peer Supporter!

Yay!

486908_10207864541026921_7777038552407007219_n.jpg

I did it!

After 10 fantastic weeks of training, I am now a breastfeeding peer supporter. This means that once my DBS checks are back I can volunteer on the post natal wards, NICU and children’s centres and help mums who are struggling to breastfeed or who just need some support or information.

I cannot tell you how excited I am about this amazing opportunity and I feel so privileged knowing that I will be helping support women to continue to breastfeed and helping baby’s get their yummy milk.

I know it won’t all be fun and games, especially on the NICU ward. But I am up for the challenge and I am so passionate about breastfeeding after the hardships me and Freddie have gone through on our breastfeeding journey.

I believe every woman should be given the correct information to help her make an informed choice. If she still wants to formula feed then that’s fine but at least she is informed. Unfortunately, not many women are informed about infant feeding.

Being a breastfeeding peer supporter isn’t about judging mums who don’t breastfeed, it’s about helping the mums who DO want to breastfeed and about giving mums information so they can make an informed decision. There may be times where I help a mum wean her baby off the breast as she doesn’t want to breastfeed anymore and I will support her and help her. But I will also tell her of the risks involved because she deserves to know.

I’m so excited to start, not only do I get to help mum and baby’s but I also get to see super squishy, newborn goodness!

 

Connect with me:

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Instagram

 

Why Men Need Feminism Too

Why Men Need Feminism Too.pngSo, I was scrolling through Facebook last night as you do, when I saw a post from another mum on a mummy group.

She was ranting about her husband, fair enough, he sounds like a lazy ass and we all need to rant sometimes. But the comments astounded me and left me feeling sick. She was moaning about how her husband had a day off for the first time in ages and refused to go to the shop to buy her little boy some new trainers so she could take him to the park.

So, the comments.

‘Go beat him senseless with the trainers that don’t fit any more and say if he got them then you’d have no need to do this lol’. 

Yeah because domestic violence is fucking hilarious.

‘Headbutt him’

It’s funny because if your husband headbutted you then you could get a restraining order put against him and he would get charged with assault.

We don’t encourage that type of violence .. Use a phone book, it leaves no marks and doesn’t hurt you a bit’

Why is it okay for women to joke about things like this or threaten violent behaviour but if I posted on a group saying that my partner threatened to beat me with a shoe and headbutt me they would tell me to ring the police?

Violence is never okay. It is NEVER okay to lay a finger on another person’s body without their consent unless you are defending yourself. It is NEVER okay to smack a baby, to smack a child or to smack an adult.

Violent behaviour is always abuse, no matter how you sugar coat it or joke about it. It is NEVER funny.

This is why men need feminism too. Because it’s fine for a woman to joke about harming her partner but it’s abuse when a man does it.

1 in 4 women get abused in their lifetime and 1 in 6 men get abused in their lifetime. Abuse is not a joke.

 

Connect with me:

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Instagram