Today my heart goes out to every woman who has suffered the loss of a baby. It is hard to let go of the feeling that somehow your body has failed you. That a life you created has gone and you will never get him back.
I have written a story called Sorrow Comes Unsent For, which is included in an anthology called The Sound of Silence – Journeys Through Miscarriage. When I was pregnant I looked forward and saw the new life that was coming. Then I miscarried and that life was gone, but there was no funeral or mourning period observed. I was angry at my body for failing me, sad when my due date arrived and I had nothing to show for it. I wanted to share the story of one of my miscarriages so that other women who have experienced the trauma realise they are not alone.
All the authors have poured their hearts out in the book, the stories are beautiful and moving. If you know someone who has lost a child through miscarriage this book may be a nice gift to show that you are thinking of them.
The Sound of Silence book is published on October 1.
I am a member of an association I didn’t want to join. A card carrying crazy haired mummy in tracksuit pants, wearing bare feet, I am doing single motherhood the feral way. According to studies, single motherhood is not a pathway to physical nor mental wellness, more like emotional chaos.
My family was way ahead of the trend when it comes to single mothering. My paternal grandmother and my maternal great grandmother were both single mothers way before it became fashionable. When I am exhausted I think of my dad’s mother raising two children on her own in the 1930s and 40s, a time when single parenting was not chic. She couldn’t open a bank account nor get a loan because she had no husband.
My mission is to share the joys of single parenting. I don’t mind being single, it’s the single parenting I struggle with. My friends tell me I should be looking for the next man I’m going to break up with, but right now I think it is
Better to be alone than in bad company
I don’t want to be a single mum cougar, ogling young men on a Saturday night. Young men who are emotionally living on another planet. And their taste in music is appalling. I don’t want a grandpa either, I’m not that desperate.
But I’m sure I’m not the only single smother who behaves like a debauched old tart when the children stay at their father’s girlfiend’s place.
I don’t like to bash men on my blog, just tenderise them…
My Menace is little but she could punch anyone’s lights out. She is skinny but very strong. When she wears a dress I think, don’t be fooled by the facade, she is really a warrior. On the weekend I was trying to make her clean her bedroom.
“I don’t like this doggy,” she said, then threw her stuffed toy that looks like road kill at me.
“Mama, I’m a monkey, what are you?” she said.
“I’m a horse,” I said.
“A dead horse.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
“No, actually in Chinese astrology I’m a fire horse.”
“No, you’re a dead horse, Mama.”
Most days I forget to laugh with my kids. Mothers take themselves very seriously.
Ah, the first Monday of the first week of the school holidays. This morning I actually thought I would,
a) be able to finish a sentence
and
b) be able to finish a cup of coffee before it went cold
and
c) be able to put a load of washing on before my children started to maim each other.
My theory is that Mother Nature makes us naive enough to think that today will be different. This time I’ll be the perfect mother and my children will be characterless robots with clean bedrooms. How’s the serenity?
Happy birthday Angelina – the patron saint of yummy mummies. Yes Kasey, I am not pretty enough. But I woke up feeling refreshed from a lovely dream of marrying Angie’s husband.
Teenagers are like Queensland, beautiful one day, a nightmare the next.
On Saturday my 14 year daughter glanced down at her floor-drobe. She had nothing to wear but clothes that were fashionable at breakfast time. All this while I turn into an aging cougar. Except that I am the anti-cougar, the tracksuit pants wearing tragedy in tired trainers, wishing I had some energy left over from mothering and working to desire a makeover.
This week teenage beast cleaned up her floor-drobe and turned into an interior design fascist. She wants me to be the queen of minimalism on a single mother budget. If her sisters place so much as a Barbie on the floor she screams.
She is also a control freak about the music we listen to at home. I mention the Bee Gees and she looked blank. I said,
“Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth there were three brothers who wore tight white pants and hair-drier-fluffy-wind-blown hair singing falsetto disco hits.”
“Shit mum, they sound Palaeolithic.” There is no one more hip than a teenager and no one who has ever suffered more.
So I dedicate this song to her. Whether you’re a mother or whether you’re a brother…..
I went to an expensive all girls private school where they obsessed over what we wore and how we spoke every day. So I swear way too much. When people meet my kids, especially my youngest, most think,
“What an adorable child.” It is usually at this point she bursts into song:
“Stick your head down the loo, don’t taste it, don’t waste it, it might be a poo.”
According to some pop psychologists children of single parents grow up to be criminals. Great. My girls can start shoplifting some high quality items from David Jones, I am sick of eating baked beans.
I wear pyjamas to work every day, My dad used to say “Are you wearing that for a bet?” because I used to go the pub with my friends dressed as a nun. On Saturday nights my girlfriends would be looking glamorous to get the guy and I’d be wearing a black smock and a crucifix. Now I’m a clown I get paid to look like a fruit loop at work, so the idea of going out in public dressed in a tutu has lost its appeal. And my nine year old and her ten year old best friend tell me that while kids can dress crazy, mums are only allowed to go a little nuts in their attire. There are standards that must be upheld. Don’t want to embarrass the kidlets do we? Especially before they’re teenagers. Hopefully I’m not the only mother who is trying to be a style icon my way.