PMDD strikes again…

I should have seen the warning signs over the past 2 days. I should have known the symptoms.

The insomnia, the extreme fatigue, the irritability, the over indulging, the lack of patience, the feelings of being unable to cope, the anxiety attacks in the middle of the night, the paranoia and insecurity.

However, once again, my dear old friend PMDD, got the better of me.

And this time, he got me good.

I wasn’t expecting him for a few days so have completely overlooked all the signals. Even yesterday when a minor disagreement with hubby got out of hand and resulted in a full blown shouting match, albeit predominantly me shouting, I still did not switch on.

It was not until I did the unthinkable, that I took a step back and with deep sadness realised… ‘this is not me’ and ‘this has got to stop’.

And as ashamed and disgusted with myself as I am to admit to what I did, I feel it is important to be honest, if I am to raise awareness and help people understand that this is a serious disorder with utterly debilitating consequences. So, as hard as it has been for me to write this, here goes…

I lashed out at my husband. Yes *hangs head in shame* – I lashed out to hit him. Or should I say… PMDD lashed out to hit him. Because it is not me. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I am a big advocate of communication over physical force when it comes to conflict management. I hate violence. Its just not me.

But PMDD loves it. And when he has his claw like talons in me, he can make me do things that on the other 27 days of the month, I wouldn’t even dream of.

Thank goodness my children weren’t present, is all I can say. But what if they had been? What would they have thought of their calm and loving mummy? Even worse, what if PMDD had lashed out at them?

I couldn’t allow this to happen. PMDD can torture me all it likes, but I love my family too much for them to be hurt by him. So I barricaded myself away for the rest of day, for my family’s happiness and welfare, and cried until the early hours when PMDD got bored and finally allowed me to sleep.

This morning, after just a few hours sleep, I dragged myself to the doctors, sat in the chair and let it all come out. Lets just say, we got through just a few man size tissues! The first doctor praised me for being honest and brave enough to speak out and was really empathetic to the torment that PMDD put me through.

I was there for nearly 4 hours, seeing various doctors. I even begged with them to give me a hysterectomy to stop this all once and for all. They argued that I was still young and may want further children. I argued that I have two beautiful children and I would sacrifice not having more, to ensure their safety and happiness, as well as my husband’s and mine. Apparently this is a last resort and not something that could be considered just yet. The end result from the last doctor I saw was to “stick it out”, as the pills I am on at present ‘may’ kick in by next month. My question was: “What if they don’t kick in next month? What if my PMDD escalates again?”

I was told that I am in control and am completely capable of stopping myself from acting out my darkest thoughts during those few days. It was at this point I actually lost a little respect for the doctor speaking with me, because she clearly has NEVER experienced PMDD. Aside from ‘those’ few days a month, I am positive and energetic, not to mention, in complete control of my feelings and emotions. She clearly has no understanding of how suffocating and overwhelming PMDD can make its sufferers feel in those few days a month. PMDD has driven women who are otherwise well balanced and content, to suicide during their pre menstrual phase.

PMDD is not just Pre Menstrual Stress or Tension. It is abhorrent. Psychotic. Crippling. Debilitating. Life Stopping.

I am not being melodramatic. I have had to take time off work now as I am not sleeping and in no fit state to function effectively. I will have to steer clear from my husband and sons for the next few days, which breaks my heart in two as I love them all dearly. I will have to cancel planned social functions and avoid contact with people. And when Mother Nature comes and the monster in me leaves, I will spend the next few weeks repairing and rectifying the devastation and hurt he caused, until he arrives again.

I am so grateful to have such a loving supporting family and am blessed to have friends who know me for the happy, bubbly person I really am.

I never wanted to be one of those women with “women’s problems”, especially working in a male dominated environment, which is why I always kept this under my hat and hidden away like a dirty little secret.

However, I think its time we lifted the silence on PMDD and expose it for the demon it really is.

I pray that no woman has to experience PMDD, but I hope that if you do, in reading this you may feel comforted to know that you are not alone… 🙂


Proud Muma Signing Off… x





The Monster in Me (aka PMDD)

Ok, so Jekyll and Hyde? That was written about me. Not many people know that…

You see for the most part of each month I am happy go lucky, up beat, energetic and somewhat, annoyingly positive ME. Yet, once a month, the monster in me comes out from its hibernation and BAM – the Proud Muma you thought you knew, is no more.

I’ve been living with this monster for years, as have my poor, tortured hubby and family. No one else knows of the trouble we experience as I have ashamedly kept him hidden away, like my dirty little secret.  Not knowing who he is or why he chose me to be his slave for a few days each month, we just accepted that he was here to stay.

Until today!

After a particularly rough weekend of enduring the monster, hubby and I decided it was time to seek the assistance of the lovely folk of the NHS to find out what exactly we were facing here. And oh my, why did I not go visit them long ago??

My beloved readers… let me introduce you to the Monster in Me… also known as Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder – or as we now affectionately refer to him as: PMDD!

Yes, PMDD has been named and shamed. Not to be confused with his grumpy, yet no so evil sidekick PMT (pre menstrual tension). Oh no, PMDD is on a whole other level!

So let me tell you what my little friend has been subjecting me to for years now.

Without fail, in the week before Mother Nature pays me her monthly visit, PMDD kicks off with suffocating feelings of paranoia, worthlessness, anxiety and fear. These usually result in me being pathetically needy with hubby, repeatedly asking him “Do you love me?” and “Do you still think I’m sexy?” Urgh – I just cringe thinking about it. That’s just NOT me!

He causes me to become completely irrational, making rash decisions that on any other week of the month, I would not even contemplate. I can not tell you how many times I have left my husband or kicked him out during an attack from PMDD. Last week I came too close to handing in my resignation at work, the results of which could have been disastrous.

PMDD likes to wake me at “stupid o’clock” in the morning, and party around in my head so that I am unable to sleep. I think he slips something in my water too, to get me in the party mood, as the heart palpitations and excessive sweating I experience are unsettling to say the least. The insomnia causes extreme fatigue, which only exaggerates all of the other evils he inflicts upon me. I have no energy, no motivation, and no desire to do anything.

I’m sure PMDD lives on a diet of raw onions as not only does he stink, but he stimulates my tear ducts meaning I cry at the drop of a hat. I am usually pretty good at controlling emotions, staying strong and keeping a level head. Hence the embarrassment when I burst into tears in the middle of my open plan office or find myself sobbing into my bed sheets for no real reason at all. PMDD loves it.

He physically abuses me from the inside out. Bloats out and knots my stomach with cramps so excruciating I can barely breathe through them.  Rattles around in my head until its pounding. Fills me with nausea. Tempts me with junk food and wine, which I eat and drink to excess to escape the torture he puts me through.

I may appear to refer to PMDD in a light hearted, almost affectionate manner. Naming and personalising him. In doing so, I am actually minimising his evil, softening the killer grip he has and am ultimately separating him from ME. He is not me. He is not who I am.

In all seriousness, PMDD is debilitating. Although his visits only last a few days, it is a living hell for those few days, and I often spend the rest of the month apologising and making up for the awful person I become and the hurt I inflict on others during this time. For those few days he has control, I can’t function at work, at home, as a friend, wife or mum.

I haven’t mentioned yet, some of the darker things he makes me feel because, quite frankly, I am ashamed. But if I am to make anyone understand this disorder to its full extent, I need to be honest.

During PMDD’s stay, I am completely plagued with self hatred and disgust with the way I look, the way I feel and the way I am behaving. Utter disgust.

I feel anger. Not just ” a bit cheesed off”. Simmering, loathing, vile anger to the point I could actually physically hurt the ones I love (myself included). Just the smallest thing can send me into a fit of uncontrollable rage.

All the while I am feeling this, I know that it is not the real me. It is hormone related and as soon as Mother Nature arrives and waves her magic wand, PMDD disappears immediately leaving me feeling as though a weight has been lifted, the dark cloud has evaporated and I am ME again. Happy, calm, fun, loving – in control – me.

But I can not trust myself to be around my children and hubby when I am under the influence of PMDD. So far I have just about managed to keep my violent thoughts as just thoughts. However, what’s to say that next time he visits, it pushes me too far and I snap. I love my family too much to risk that.  I thought about booking a few days off work every month and sliding off somewhere to be alone where I am no risk to anyone but myself, but that is no way to live my life?

This is the main reason for my visit to the doctors, and my writing this post. Because until today I honestly thought it was just PMT and that perhaps I was a little crazy. I felt quite alone as I know of no one else who reacts to their PMT quite as dramatically as I do.

But now I know it is not just PMT, that I’m not alone in suffering this and that there is hope. It can be helped. And it can be controlled.

It may be a long journey of trialling and testing various tablets to see which suppress my hormones best. I may have a lot of work to do on changing my eating and sleeping habits to make sure I’m in tip top condition to fight off PMDD if he does come a knocking. But at least now we have a name for him. We know he does exist and is not just in my head. We know I’ve not completely lost the plot. We no longer have to live in fear of “that time of the month” because we know we can fight back and take control.

And you know what, I am looking forward to next month’s impending attack as I can’t wait to kick that PMDD’s butt into next century!

Not so big now, are you! Ha.


Proud and Happy ‘Free from the Grips of PMDD’ Muma – signing off 🙂

Birthday Blessings

Today is someone’s birthday.

They will probably spend it with strangers, feeling rather lonely and unloved.

They’ve not had a great start to their not so long life and have been let down by the people who should care about them most. But I care…

They don’t even know I exist. But I play such a big part in their life and their welfare. In fact, I have lived, slept and breathed it in recent weeks.

Even though we may feel down at times, or alone… there is always someone out there who cares for or loves us.

If you are waking up with your family or loved ones, have a roof over your head and clothes on your back, food in your cupboards and hope in your heart… then you have more than most.

Never underestimate how truly blessed you are…

Happy Birthday x

The Yummy Mummy / Dishy Dad Debate

Ok, so I may have made reference to yummy mummies and dishy daddies in a previous blog, which has caused somewhat of a discussion on my twitter time line, and as a result, a number of blogs on the subject too.

The question raised: are the terms “Yummy Mummy” and “Dishy Daddy” just fluffy versions of MILF and DILF, but with the same sexual connotation? Are they degrading, patronising and offensive terms to use? Or are they fun, cheeky and in a roundabout way…complimentary?

It seemed wrong to sit back and let the World (slight exaggeration) mull this matter over, when I in fact seemed to start it. So, let me give you my take!

I have never read or been made aware of the “official” definitions, so to begin, I looked up the online meaning of Yummy Mummy and Dishy Daddy:

Yummy mummy is a slang term used in the United Kingdom to describe young, attractive and wealthy mothers (WIKIPEDIA)

Dishy Daddy – surprisingly, I could find no precise definition.

Now let me share with you what would I define as a yummy mummy or dishy daddy?


I have a close group of friends who are all mums and we meet when we can for either play dates with the children, or for meals / nights out without the children. We call one another “Yummies” and by no means are offended by the term “Yummy Mummy”. My Yummies are all beautiful women: inside and out. They are genuine, generous, empathetic, non judgemental and loyal, but most of all, they are all wonderful, devoted and loving mothers. I feel truly blessed for our paths to have crossed.

We all like to take care of ourselves, physically, aesthetically and mentally – but this by no means suggests we dress in designer labels, are baby puke free or go for weekly pedicures and hair appointments (not that there is anything wrong with mothers who do). These days I buy my clothes in Florence and Fred (Tesco), regularly joke about my perfume being ‘eau de bebevomit’,  last had a pedicure 9 months ago (because I was heavily pregnant and couldn’t reach my toes) and I can’t even recall when I last had a haircut!  However, my point is, we do take pride in our health and appearances, and why shouldn’t we? Just because you become a parent does not mean you are no longer entitled to make time for yourself.

My yummies and I love the opportunity to get dressed up, put on a bit of warpaint and spend the odd night being “us”. I personally believe this is vital in life and an absolute must as a parent, to retain your identity and not lose interest in yourself. Beyond ‘mum’ or ‘dad’ there is YOU, and you are important too.

Are my yummies attractive and good looking? Well, I am completely biased, but I strongly consider them all to be aesthetically pleasing too. But this has nothing to do with me referring to them as Yummy. Yummy, to me, is an endearing term for these lovely ladies who have been a lifeline to me since having children. Plus, it rhymes with Mummy! Bonus.


My husband refers to us all as the Yummy Mummies so I asked him his thoughts. He agreed that they are all lovely women and he is so glad that I have become acquainted with them. However, by referring to them as yummy does not mean he wishes to sleep with them all. “As if he’d tell you anyway” I hear you all say, but let me tell you, my husband and I have a very honest, straight talking relationship when it comes to things of this nature. And he would tell me!

He also agreed with me that, in his opinion, Yummy Mummy does not carry the same sexual innuendos as the term MILF.


We know full well the meanings of MILF and DILF. They are straight and to the point. A mum or dad that you would like to, ahem, have sex with, of the ‘vulgar’ kind apparently.

I will admit right now, that my husband often refers to me as a MILF. Am I offended? Not at all. I find it amusing. I also admit that I love the fact that my husband still finds me so sexually attractive, after all this time, and with the lumps and bumps I’ve gained from having two children. MILF and DILF are terms that are used within our circle of friends, and at one another, but are completely used as harmless, tongue in cheek fun.

Would I feel as comfortable with a stranger calling me a MILF? In all honesty, I certainly wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

However, I once had a young boy on a bike ride past and say, “Cor, what a MILF!” This was NOT okay. In fact, very not okay. However, I think this was more because of how old it made me feel! The term MILF (and DILF) if typed into google, bring up images of a pornographic nature, which I have no problem with my husband envisaging me in, but certainly not a young boy. However I am able to laugh about it now. The sexual connotations that MILF and DILF conjur up mean that I completely understand how people could take offence to these terms being used in their direction. However, on the whole, I am not one of those.


As there are no clear definitions, I can only offer my personal opinion, and that is, the male equivalent of what I class as a yummy mummy: an attractive man (and not just sexually or physically) who is also a wonderful, devoted father. The few fathers I have discussed this subject with, said they would feel nothing but flattered and complimented if referred to as a Dishy Dad in this sense. But as always, that is not to say that this term is for everyone!


I think what this all boils down to is our own interpretations of the terms. We live in a very politically correct World (if not a little too politically correct at time) and what may be one person’s cup of tea, may not be anothers. What I’m trying to say is… you can never please everyone. Before writing this piece, I had no idea of the definition of a “yummy mummy” and only had my personal formulated definition. Even having read the online definitions, I still stick my my inference of the phrases and am completely comfortable with those.

I am prouder than ever to be a confident, hard working, passionate, loving and happy mummy.

I am also proud to be me: confident, hard working, passionate, loving and happy ME.

Yumminess (or dishiness) is not just an external attribute – it shines from within 🙂

ProudMuma signing off…x

The Glamorous Life of ProudMuma

Want an insight into the glamorous, perfect life of ProudMuma?

I would love to tell you it started after a lovely nights sleep with hubby getting up with the boys, enabling me time for a luxurious shower and to make myself look beautiful before we all go down to our squeaky clean kitchen to have breakfast together. I’d smile smugly as I explain that I am still able to fit into the size 8 bodycon dress I bought just before Christmas which I confidently wore into work today. I would revel in the fact that all the kids I work with had a fab troublefree Christmas and New Year and that I returned home from my half day at work feeling rewarded and energised. I’d happily recall how hubby took the boy to his French lessons and to the park to play rugby before he himself went off to work. I’d brag about the messy time and puzzle time I shared with the boys, followed by assisting boy with his reading & writing (maths and astrophysics!) Then I’d finish by rejoicing at how I had time to make a wonderful nutritious meal before hubby got home from work early, and how we sat and ate together as a family before we bathed the boys, read them stories, put them to bed and snuggled up on the sofa for the night.

But that would be boring! This is how my day really went:

After an unsettled night sleeping next to the Gruffalo (hubby with man flu), I was woken up at 445am by my gorgeous wee man who was chatting and babbling away happily to himself and playing chuck the dummy down the side of the cot. You know, that really fun game of fumbling around in the dark, that is most enjoyed in the early hours when you’re half asleep (and by this I am still referring to the dummy game!!!) As much as I resented being woken at such unearthly hours, it was hard to be cross seeing his big gummy grin beaming happily up at me through the darkness.

I retrieved his dummy and popped it back in several times, before he settled back to sleep, by which time I was, of course, wide awake. Got up and attempted to get dressed, however it appears all of my clothes have shrunk in the wash over the Christmas period. May I reiterate that it has got nothing to do with the copious amounts of food and alcohol I have consumed of late! Must be a fault with the washing machine which I will get fixed straight away… Anyway, I managed to find a slightly frumpy but loose outfit to camouflage my, ahem, New year bulge.

Made my way downstairs to a mountain of washing up that hubby had said he would do before bed last night, but hadn’t because he wasn’t feeling well (the excuses people come up with to get out of washing up, humph!) Being the anally retentive clean freak I am when it comes to the kitchen, I spent the next half hour scrubbing and cleaning it. Shame this obsessive compulsiveness doesn’t extend to the rest of my house, however I keep telling myself that a messy home is a happy home!

All of this cleaning seriously ate into my daily beauty regime though (yeah, alright, don’t laugh!)

Boy was woken by my psychotic kitchen episode and came downstairs, demanding breakfast, NOW. This resulted in further mess in the kitchen, which of course, I had to clean up before I attempted anything else, for fear of impending death!

By the time I got to check myself out in the mirror, I kinda wished I hadn’t. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and my hair looked like Worzel Gummidges. Nothing a bit of slap and FrizzEase couldn’t fix (or so I told myself!)

I had to brave it and go wake hubby, who grunted and coughed; snot encrusted around his nose and dried saliva around his mouth from sleeping all night with his mouth open due to his nose being so blocked. Oh, how I love that man! (I really do, but at that time I was late for work and had no time for sympathy!)

I kissed my boys goodbye, grabbed my toast and ran for the bus. Dropped my toast en route, which of course, landed buttered side down. Typical. Not that I considered picking it up and eating it, of course, but 3 second rule and all that…

Got to the bus stop just in time as a bus had just pulled in. Bonus. Yanked my buspass from my bag, and to my horror, a sanitary towel (unused!) had attached itself, which dramatically flew out at the bus driver. Picked it up, my face burning red, scurried to a seat avoiding eye contact with all other passengers, and made it to work (without embarrassing myself any further).

Spent the morning dealing with a case of a young person who’s years of abuse at the hands of the people who should love and protect them most: their parents, had escalated over the Christmas period. Made me crave being able to hold my boys and tell them how much I love them, and made me appreciate that, hell, I’m not such a bad muma after all.

Finished work early as hubby is on lates – again, and had to get off to work, so rushed home on the bus (without throwing any sanitary goods at the driver this time) and to my delight, the heavens opened as I got off the bus, showering me in the water of the Gods! Will save me trying to find time to have a bath later, I suppose.

Like passing ships in the night, hubby left for work as soon as I got in, and my second (but most important) job began: Muma.

We had fun playing games all afternoon, writing thankyou cards for all their Christmas presents and snuggling up in front of the CBeebies panto for like the 100th time (I kid you not!) It was bliss.

Just before dinner, Wee Man decided to clear his bowels to make room for tea. After removing his dirty nappy, I thought it would be nice to give him a few moments of naked play. Nappy free. As nature intended. He clearly had other ideas though and promptly sprayed me with urine, which I stemmed with one hand whilst grabbing desperately for the wipes with the other. Boy then shouted: “Muma, he’s doing another pooh!” Argh, he was! My instant reaction was to use the hand grabbing for the wipes, to rescue the pooh before it hit the floor. So, I had one hand covered in urine and the other full of s*&t (pardon my French). I have never felt more glamorous in all my life!

We cleaned up, but by now it was late and I did not have time to make the “healthy nutritious meal” I always aim to. So boy had to settle for a plate of pesto pasta and hotdogs. Boy was sat there for 45 minutes, playing with his food rather than eating it (not surprising really!) He was given his usual warning to stop playing and start eating, or straight to bed and no pudding. This resulted in a 15 minute protest of him saying “I can’t!” and “I’ve got no energy!” and “I need the toilet” and “”I want to give you a hug!” All the excuses I’ve heard all too often and not being one to back down on my warnings, I followed through and took him up to bed early, along with his baby brother.

Read a story, sung to them both and had lovely snuggles before I tucked them happily into their beds.

‘Right’, I thought, ‘I’ll treat myself and run a bath.’ I slipped into those soapy bubbles, closed my eyes and felt my cares and dirt melt away…

“It’s not fair!” Boy was at the bathroom door.

“What’s not fair?” I asked.

“I wanted a bath! Now I will have to go to bed all smelly!”

Like that has ever bothered him before! I asked him to go back to bed, which he did, but not without another 15 minutes of repetitive “It’s not fair!” When did my 4 year old turn into Kevin from “Kevin and Perry”? Who kidnapped my cutesy, innocent wee boy and turned him into a grumpy, argumentitive teenager?

I realised I was not going to get a bath in peace, so quickly shaved my legs and got out. There were no clean towels as hubby had used them, and hung them over bedroom doors rather than our radiator in the bathroom (which would clearly be the most practical and logical place to put wet bath towels, surely?!) So I ran through to the bedroom to get a clean towel, which is when I noticed I had hacked off a huge chunk of skin at the back of my foot whilst hastily shaving, that was now oozing blood, the trail of which was smeared all over our carpet. Our CREAM carpet.

So there I am, on hands and knees, in the bedroom…

Scrubbing the carpet (I know what you were thinking, tut tut!)

I go into to smooth things over with boy and give him a cuddle, and he’s at that beautiful stage where he is half asleep (and half awake surprisingly). I kiss his forehead and he says “I love you Muma”. Music to my ears.

It’s too late to cook a healthy meal for myself, but I manage to knock up a culinary delight of beans on toast – with grated cheese (Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out!) I then open the fridge and find inside, an unfinished bottle of the bubbly stuff from New Year. It looks at me. I look at it. It whispers, “You know you want me” and I say, “No, I’m trying not to drink throughout January, thank you very much” and shut the door in its face.

I sit down to eat, but I can hear it, beckoning me. “Just one sip” it says.

I switch on the telly to drown it out, but there it is again, “Drink me!”

Suddenly a bean goes down the wrong hole, and I gag, and choke and I can’t stop coughing. I run into the kitchen to get some water to wash it down, but there are no glasses to hand. So I run to the fridge, yank it open and I glug that bad boy bubbly stuff straight from the bottle.

Be a shame to see it go to waste…

Having polished off the remainders in the bottle, and cleaned the kitchen like a possessed woman, I decide its time to retire for the day, ready for a re-run tomorrow. I brush my teeth, put on some flanelette nightwear (what? its cold in January!) and sink under the duvet. When hubby gets home late, he hugs and tells me he loves me, and you know what, everything’s alright.


This really was my day. It’s not glamorous and it’s not sexy. We may not be perfect, we may not have much – but we have each other and a whole lotta love, and  I wouldn’t change it for the World! We are healthy and happy and our house, albeit messy at times, is a home. What more could we need or want? Shove your glamorous life… I’m happy with mine thanks!

To Work or Not to Work?

“When you make the decision to have children, you should make sure you have the provisions there so you do not have to work, to enable you to dedicate your whole life completely to your child”

These were the words of a young mum I once knew. She didn’t approve of mums working. She also did not approve of them having hobbies, a social life or time out to themselves. She believed that you should do all of those things and get them “out of your system” before having children, so you could be with your children 24 hours of the day, 7 days a week and devote your life to them.

This Mum believed that children suffered when parents went to work and “shoved” their kids in childcare. My mum was a single parent (and it would have been much easier for her to stay at home, and she would have probably been better off financially!) However, mum chose to work, and I have not suffered as a result of that. It has taught me appreciate how rewarding it is to work and earn the things you want or need. I never once begrudged my mum for working and in fact, I admired her for it and hope that the same will apply to my wee ones. I receive comments constantly about how confident yet polite and well behaved my children are. I may be biased, but my children are very outgoing, sociable, loving and most of all, HAPPY children. They are not suffering in the slightest.

The hardest thing for me was that this Mum pitied me for “having” to work and believed I was envious of her not having to. This really grated on me because I actually choose to work. Don’t get me wrong, I would like to be at home a little more, and hubby and I would struggle big time in the financial department if I did give up work completely, but I choose to work because I enjoy it. I have worked hard to get to the stage I am at in my career and I am unbelievably proud of my achievements to date.

I enjoy the opportunity to talk and interact with adults (and adolescents) about subjects other than CBeebies, milestones met, how much sleep we got etc! I also feel empowered with the independence of going to work, the responsibilities I am trusted with and earning my own money which then contributes towards our family.


At home I am “Mum” and “the Missus”, both roles that I love immensely and am proud to be, but at work (and socially) I am ME. I think its so important to retain some of your identity, whether that be through work, socially or hobbies – because when you strip away all the roles and titles, or when it feels everything is crashing down around us, there is just YOU. And YOU need time, attention and love too.

Its probably no surprise that I am no longer in contact with this Mum (her choice, not mine) but I hold no grudges. She is entitled to her opinion and I wish her and her family the very best.

Whilst I could see and appreciate her views, I also felt they are somewhat unrealistic in a lot of peoples cases, particularly in this day in age and with the threat of recession around every corner. If you are in a position where you do not need to work and can stay at home, that’s great (and I take my hat off to you as parenting in itself if a full time job!) However, there are enough pressures for new mums (and dads) without being made to feel guilty for both parents having to, or choosing to, work.

My choosing to work does not mean that I am any less devoted or dedicated to my children than those who do not work. In fact, I appreciate my time off with my children so much more because I work, and as a result our family time is quality time.

I cannot vocalise enough how completely and utterly devoted to my children I am. They are my life. I would drop anything for them, do anything for them, die for them. I would even walk over lego for them! 😉 Being a working Mum does not change that.


So here I am, at 6am, getting ready for work after 2 lovely weeks off with my family.

Do I feel guilty? No.

Do I feel excited? Yes.

Am I a bit odd? Probably!


ProudMuma signing off! x

Lets Get Blogging!

Okay – so I really need to make more time to blog.

Easier said than done when you work full time, have a 4 year old and a baby, and a husband who works such un-family friendly shifts I sometimes wonder if I still have a husband.

But then I see all these other yummy mummies and dishy dads, managing to keep up a regular blog and I suddenly realise, I have NO excuse for not doing so myself.

So here goes.

It seems quite apt that I am making this promise to myself to keep up a blog, on the Eve of New Year, especially when I have reluctantly said “I will NOT make New Years Resolutions!” Well, technically this is not a New Years resolution as it is not technically New Year yet! Phew, got myself out of that one…

Both boys are currently in “quiet time” and so, I guess, am I. So it seems like the perfect opportunity to get my writers head on and get blogging.

I’m going to dedicate this post to a wonderful lady who I came to know of through the wonderful World of Twitter, but whom has inspired me. She was known to the twitter world as @multiplemummy because, as you may have guessed, she had multiple children, including twins, all under the age of three. She sadly passed away on 14th December 2012, leaving behind three beautiful children, a devoted husband and a devastated number of followers. An amazing lady who touched so many peoples lives, and a tragic loss.

But she has emphasised to me how important it is to live every day as if it were your last, and has also shown me that where there is a will there is a way If I want to make time to keep a blog, then by jove I can! And I will!

So, you lucky readers, let the blog commence!


Oh and Happy New Year!! 🙂