The mystery of the last blog post…

It seems the last post I wrote on vomit and other assorted bodily fluids has disappeared into thin internet. Was hoping I’d remember what I wrote but I haven’t had a memory for years, even less so mow I’m a mother.

Today is Sunday and my son decided to mark the occasion by demanding food at seven am. He then went back to sleep and I am wide awake. I’ve fed the cats, who are now growling at each other, and being overly affectionate towards me in order to piss each other off. (That’s right kittehs, I’m on to you.)

Whilst listening to both hubs and baby snore this morning I read an article on Facebook, ‘Is the drunk you the real you?’ Turns out if you’re a little bit drunk yes, a lot drunk then no. So I have confirmation that I am actually a bit of a cow. It’s just when I’m sober I do a terribly good job of repressing that side of me and being nice to people, even if they don’t deserve it.

This is a trait I most definitely do not want William to inherit. I often do not speak my mind or stand up for myself because I don’t want  to offend. There is a fine line between being honest and being an arse and I don’t want Wills to be an arse. I want him to be fair, I want him to be honest and I want him to be kind. More then that I want him to have the freedom of an unburdened mind.

When I am not assertive, or someone upsets me and I don’t tell them they’ve upset me I lose sleep, not them. I daydream about the things I could/should have said. I get angry at myself for remaining mute. (I do this for years after the event.) I don’t want William to have all this anxiety, so I have to  do a very scary thing:

Lead by example.

If I want my son to show a bit of backbone than so do I. It’s time to speak up. And time to do this before I have a glass of wine, the gentle ‘truth lubricant’ that makes me more likely to speak my mind but too late, and poor hubs has to sit through a narration of ‘people who have wronged me’, chiming in with sympathetic noises because it’s hard to get a word in edgeways around drunk Chesney.

So now I suppose it’s time to enter a rather terrifying chapter, I promise to be very diplomatic, unless someone really deserves for me not to be! I actually have a knot in my tummy now just thinking about it. Maybe I’ll need a hipflask with me at all times but there’s definitely a word for people like that….

In other news:

The cats have decided neither of them particularly care if they’re getting attention from me or not and have disappeared.

I haven’t seen a spider in the house for ages.

Today I shall mostly be ironing.



Author: thebumpchroniclesblog

Thirty year old first time mum, sharing parenthood experiences/fails.

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