When I first thought about starting a blog, I asked myself three questions:
1) what will I write about?
2) will it be interesting or insightful?
3) who would want to read it?
After a lot of thinking (and by thinking I mean wasting time on Pinterest while pretending to be thinking), I came up with these answers:
1) Mum-stuff mostly. You know… nappies, Mum-Guilt, the 6324 questions that children ask daily.
2) Probably not, but why does that matter? It’ll be cathartic if nothing else.
3) My Mum will read it, even if nobody else does.
I wasn’t thinking about starting a blog to become Insta-Famous, or to get all the freebies and have lots of readers.
I’d got to a point in my journey as a stay-at-home Mum of two, where I needed something of my own. I needed a project. Is that even allowed?
When I think of bloggers, I think (mainly) of well polished, middle class women, living in London with successful careers in fashion or tv or something similarly interesting. These women seem to juggle their careers and being parents, effortlessly, and in clothes I could only dream of owning.
They show us their beautiful homes with furnishings to die for and share their holidays at expensive looking resorts. We see their skin care regimes, with lotions and potions that cost the earth and they add ‘links’ to the clothes they’ve bought so we can copy them.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking them. Good on ya ladies! I’m always happy to see other women doing well and would never begrudge another woman her success, because I’m certain these girls are working damn hard to get what they’ve got and deserve every moment of it.
The point I’m making (slowly, stay with me) is that I’m not one of those women. My hair isn’t shiny, I’m funny looking and overweight and have lost all sense of my style since having kids. I also haven’t had a glittering or noble career – I chose the life of a Performance Artist and worked 9-5 to support it. I was never going to be a big money maker. I’m a dreamer who dreams in neon lights.
But then I had kids and gave up the rat race and became ever poorer, so my life isn’t very opulent or interesting to look at or read about. To the outside world it’s probably fairly dull but maybe that’s the sort of thing people want to read. Perhaps there are other Mum’s out there, living ‘boring’ lives, where nothing much ‘happens’, who’d like nothing more than to take comfort in the idea that the mundane is actually ok. In fact, it’s bloody great.
My little family’s life isn’t glamorous but that doesn’t mean it isn’t interesting. I’m constantly fascinated by it.
I’m fascinated by my Bear and Bunni and all the little things they do daily, even the annoying stuff. I’m fascinated by the way I have changed since becoming a Mum, continuously learning and adapting to my new role (I’ve been at this parenting-gig for four years now, but I still feel like a beginner in many ways). It’s not boring to me. It’s thrilling and challenging and better than I could ever have hoped for.
I wanted to record my journey and I thought it’d be good to put a voice to the average Mum. While I love seeing interiors, fashion, architecture and music based blogs (I spend far too much time on social media in the dead of night, it’s no wonder I’m always tired), what I really love is to see people like me and I think other people do too.
So here I am.
A self-appointed blogger.
Blogging about ‘stuff’ that happens in our life, wearing bobbly leggings, ever-present greying hair scragged back and taking somewhat grainy photos to accompany my garbled posts.
There will be swearing, sore nipples, talk of fluids (and their colour), insomnia, comparison, maternity pads, meltdowns and adoration of my beastlies.
If that’s the kind of thing you’re after, then you’ve come to the right page. So put on your house-suit (pj’s), grab a cup of tea and come aboard the Mother-Ship.