WARNING: the following content may offend!
Firstly, please understand I use these terms quite loosely. I mean what’s normal right? And what’s un-normal? (Is that even a word?) Anyway… I consider myself to be an un-normal mother. So let me define these loose terms for you. A normal mother is a woman (obviously) who always wanted to be a mother. She’s 100% devoted to her offspring and the family household. She prides herself in what she’s rearing. Huge kudos to these women. They live and breathe the little termites. They take their beautiful little girl to ballet lessons with the younger and older sibling in tow. This is where they deserve monstrous accolades. They sit with the older and younger sibling for 45 minutes while the middle child is in their lesson. She has to entertain them for this duration while sitting in the foyer. Waiting… waiting… waiting. These award-winning women attract like-minded women. Fair enough. They hook up independently or play catch up at the dance lesson and chat about what? You guessed it: kids. Ahhh! How do they do it? Seriously. Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing but the hugest respect for these beautiful creatures. Then there’s me. Un-normal. I freak out when I overhear women talking about their kids or husbands. I get enough of that when I’m around them (the kid and husband that is). I need to move on and chat about me or what’s happening with the state of the economy. Scrap that. The world is facing some serious doom and gloom at the mo and I don’t need to discuss it. I like to keep things positive. Back to me. I love what I do and I could talk about acting and writing all day long. Oh dear, I think I’m obsessed. Anyway, we un-normal mothers weren’t desperate to become a mum. For the record, my 4 year old was planned all the way along. Right from conception. I thought to myself one day, am I meant to be a mother? Well universe? The universe answered me 12 months later. Turns out I was. So I become a mum and the last thing I want to discuss is the birth. But for some bizarre reason that I’ll never fathom the normal mother likes to talk about the bits and pieces. I won’t elaborate on that in case any wanna-be mothers are reading this. Let’s just say I heard some gruesome stories. Again, that’s not me. I love blood and guts in movies, but come on. It’s fake. Even if it’s based on a true story I can still take it. But mothers and birth don’t fuel my fire. Then there’s the whingeing and whining about hubby’s. I’d be lying if I said I was innocent. But I came to the realisation that I didn’t want to go out in public and make him the topic of conversation, especially in a negative way. I nearly have a panic attack if I overhear these lovely motherly conversations. I don’t condemn them at all… it’s just not me. My heart starts pumping harder, my blood flow speeds up, my breathing becomes irrational and I feel like I’m choking. So in a nutshell, I love, love, love my daughter (and hubby) but I can’t be consumed by them. There’s a whole big wide world out there and I intend on having a piece of it. Is that so terrible?