This post is about BOOBS.

It's been that long since I used my laptop for anything other than binge-watching TV series, that I've almost forgotten how to type. But here I am! Char and I are visiting Perth at the moment and loving it. Charlotte lives in her little bikini and banters with my grandpa 24/7. I say 24/7 because she even banters with him in her sleep. 

Ta-da! I am standing in water! 

We're staying with my grandparents, who are the light of my life. When my mum was pregnant with me and my sister was 5 months old, my dad died in a tragic and sudden accident. My mum was left a single mother of (soon to be) two daughters. My grandparents moved in with us and helped raise us. This has left us with an extremely close relationship. If I could go as far to call my grandparents my best friends, I would. 

 My grandparents are 80 and 83 years old (don't tell them I told you that). They are the most tolerant, accepting, thoughtful and kind people you will ever meet. But that being said, they were born in a different time. So when I told my grandpa that I will only wear a bra for my own comfort and support. NOT because it is expected of me as a woman to hide my breasts from the wandering eyes of the public, he was understandably shocked. It's hard to disagree with people I love so much, but it is something I feel strongly about, and (in case you don't know already, which I doubt) I identify as a feminist.

I can already hear some of you saying, HEARD ENOUGH OF THAT RECENTLY and clicking the window closed. I know this subject has been done so many times before, especially in the last year via social media. But it's something so important that it NEEDS to be continuously explored, and I for one LOVE the awareness the feminist movement has generated as of late. But what I DON'T love is the misunderstanding and stigma attached.

It saddens me that identifying as a feminist is now synonymous with crazy, man hating, extremist. If you know me, you know I am none of those things... okay, maybe crazy. But feminists are not man-haters. I love men and have always had great relationships with men. My absolute best friends in high school were a bunch of crazy boys. All TRUE feminists want is equal opportunities and expectations (or lack of) for women AND men, for all of us.

Going back to my example: wearing a bra. Bras were originally created to provide women with support for their breasts. But now it is newsworthy if a celebrity ventures out in public without a bra. Is it such a shock that, oh my goodness, a woman has breasts? And you can SEE their natural form?! What is so obscene about breasts? When I ditch my bra I am not gallivanting about with no shirt on (which I also have no problems with, if it is in a place where men can ditch their shirts too... #freethenipple... just not my thing personally). If a person, no matter what gender, cannot go about their day without ogling my breasts, then they have the problem, not me, But we are still expected to strap our breasts down for the sake of modesty. It is the expectation that I, and most feminists, are not comfortable with. But women (and men) are still having expectations such as this forced upon them daily.

Women, give me an amen: there is nothing more comfortable than NOT wearing a bra and freeing those boobies. Men, give me an amen: imagine wearing an extra layer of stifling material strapped around your chest in the heat of the Australian summer. You get me. It's not fun.

That's... innovative.

So if you see me out and I am not wearing a bra, don't be shocked. I am a woman, I have breasts which I've nourished a child with, and I won't hide them for any one else's benefit bar my own. Except maybe my grandpa, so he doesn't have a heart attack. I'd like him to stick around for a while longer. 

Charlotte's Vlog: Room Tour!

Greetings!

Here's a surprise for ya: Charlotte loves to talk and is a bit of a show pony. I know, who would've thought! So, as per her insistence, we are introducing a (hopefully) regular feature: Charlotte's Vlog!  This episode is a tour of her room and favourite things. We laughed a lot making this. Enjoy :)

My Christmas obsession and 5 things you discover after becoming a parent.

Christmas fever has well and truly hit me. I am one of those people who emotionally prepares for Christmas over a matter of months, and wallows in a post-Christmas depression come 26th December. It is my spirit holiday.

Me. In a nutshell.

When we moved from my tiny, dank, jail cell of an apartment to our new house, I left our Christmas decorations behind (even though Duncan apparently reminded me and I said "Yep got it!"). So today was a really sad* day, because we had to buy new Christmas decorations. Soooo annoying. I could think of a million other things I'd rather do with my day.* But don't worry, we got new decorations. Duncan didn't even find me irritating* while I was grabbing pretty much every Christmas-themed item in the shop.

*That's a lie. It was awesome.

*Also a lie. There is nothing else I'd rather do.

*Okay, he found me super irritating. I lost count of how many times he sighed and rolled his eyes.

ANYWAY. Oh my God. When will my ranting ever end.

This post is not about Christmas, believe it or not. It is about what I've learnt since becoming a mother... the good, the bad and the ugly, all the shitty, the smelly, the crazy and the beautiful parts.

1. Sleep is for the weak.

Seriously. Who needs sleep? I love sleep. I freaking love it. Naps are my absolute favourite thing in the world. Ask my family how many calls I've missed due to naps. But since having Charlotte I've learnt that sleep is not essential, and you can function entirely normally with little to no sleep. Okay, mostly normally. I've done exams, finished assignments, cooked meals, washed children, braided hair, cleaned the house, all with no sleep. I'm not gonna say I was happy. I was super cranky and probably scowled at everyone I came into contact with. But you gotta do what you gotta do. 

2. You appreciate your parents a whole lot more.

Being a parent makes you truly realise everything your parents did/still do for you. I used to think my mum was super daggy and totally didn't understand me. Why didn't she just let me MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS. I'M REALLY MATURE. But after I had Charlotte I realised that I know basically nothing and I am very much immature, and my mum was trying to protect me from harm. Parents sacrifice a LOT for you. You know as a mother you'd do anything and everything for your child to have their needs met. Give your mum a hug next time you see her, and remind her you appreciate her. 

3. Life can be shitty sometimes.

I work as a bartender. When people drink excessively, they tend to lose control of their bodily fluids. Luckily, my training at raising a child has prepared me for such a job. Vomit does not bother me. Neither does poop. Do you wanna know how many times Charlotte's poop has gotten on my hand? Probably upwards of 50. I've been projectile vomited on countless times. If Char and I are both sick, I will pause in the middle of cleaning up her vomit to vomit myself, then continue cleaning. She doesn't care about vomiting on me either. She still finds vomit and poo hilarious. She'll do a poop in the toilet and inspect it for ages. Then we'll inspect it together and compare it to other poos she's done. None of these things gross me out, it's all part of having little humans.

4. A woman's body is amazing.

Guys. I brought a human into this world via my body. The thought truly blows my mind. I grew her, birthed her and nourished her. Now she walks and talks, has feelings and a character, laughs and jokes and cries. I did ALL of that, and it's honestly amazing. My body was built for carrying and birthing my children, everything has a function and everything contributes to her growth. After having Charlotte I truly realised that there is more to my body than having a flat stomach and perfect boobs and a round butt. That's the least valuable part of me. I have stretchmarks, and loose skin, and wobbly thighs. And I don't even care. My body does not define my value. I KNOW I am valuable. My body gave me my daughter. So I love all my flaws. I love my stretchmarks, because they tell the story of Charlotte's growth inside me. I love my mastitis scar, because it tells the story of my struggle and pain with breastfeeding and mastitis. I can't wait to show them to Charlotte when she's older and share with her our journey! 

5. Lastly, the love a child gives you.

Pretty much sums it up.

If you think there isn't a teen mother stigma... you're wrong.

There are a lot of issues in the world that are worth discussing. The world hunger crisis, inequality, racism and the increase in mental illness, for starters. But the topic I want to write about today is teenage parenting stereotyping. I know, I know... first world problem. But it's something that has directing affected me, and something I think a lot of people don't realise they are indirectly doing.

A few days ago I read an article written by a young mum, outlining the stigma she faced while pregnant and parenting her daughter. Yep, I thought, I can relate. Then I scrolled down to read the comments... the absolute ripping she received was unbelievable. Here I'll paste some DIRECT comments:


Blaine (Blaine?!) of Melbourne

Absolute rubbish!!! Another young mum complaning about a non-existiant 'stigma'. Get on with it!!! (such spelling, much smart).

Bitten

Oh, for the love of f**k. Stereotypes don't exist because they're never true. Most lawyers are wankers. Most doctors are arrogant with no bedside manner. Most public servants are lazy because they earn their quid whether the work gets done or not. And most 'young' mothers don't put a great deal of thought into creating life - it just kinda 'happened' with sex and contraception is like a totally long word, totes right? You're NOT exactly like the stereotype? Congratulations to you. Welcome to being the exception that proves the rule *slow clap*


Jamie

Load of rubbish, try being a mum over 40, or having no kids at all, kids having kids, ridiculous, can barely look after themselves. Living off the government, their babies growing up to be teenage mums too, just sad really, and rising all the time, disgusting.


Even though Jamie's fondness of long sentences is almost criminal, it can be assumed that these people are just normal people. I like to imagine them to be perfectly lovely, with their own happy families and homes. But something else I can assume is they probably have not had any close contact with a teenage mother. Because if you honestly think stereotyping of teenage (or young) mothers does not exist, I'm glad you live in a world where you haven't been exposed to it - like every form of discrimination, it's freakin' nasty.

The first time it happened to me was when I was getting a blood test, one of the various tests you get during pregnancy. I was asked my date of birth by the woman processing my sample. After I told her, she did a double take. "1994? That would make you... 15." I agreed with her, impressed by her excellent detective skills - I was indeed 15. After I nodded, she looked me up and down and audibly scoffed, shook her head and said, "What a waste of a life. You're much too young." Wait... do you mean to say that 15 is not the ideal age to start your family? You don't say! My eyes were truly opened that day by that horrible woman. Little did I know that this was the first in many similar encounters.

I became too scared to go out by myself, because everywhere I went I was stared at and whispered about. You might think I am exaggerating, but I want to make 100% clear that I'm not. I would walk through the shopping centre with my mum or my sister, and people would visibly point at me and laugh, or whisper to the person they were with (loud enough for me to hear on most occasions). At the time I had one of those absolutely ridiculous Formspring accounts, and people (which I can assume were my peers) were leaving me comments saying I should die for keeping my baby, that I was a terrible person, that I'd just f****d up my life, and hers as well.

About 22 weeks in to my pregnancy, I bought a gold-plated wedding ring set off eBay, I was that bloody ashamed of myself and my pregnancy. I wore it when I went out in public. Thinking of how I felt at that time makes me physically ill. Already I was emotionally stretched to the absolute limit, without the consistent cyber abuse and public humiliation. Needless to say, I deleted my Formspring. I went everywhere with my mother, who protected me like every mother would.

Even now, with my daughter 4 years old and both of us thriving, people still ask me why I continued my pregnancy. When I first meet people, they very often ask me, "So is the dad still around...?" In case you weren't aware, that is a form of stereotyping (not to mention rude and an incredibly personal question to ask of someone you have JUST met). Only recently Charlotte was referred for a development scan, with these exact words: "We often see developmental delays in children of young parents."

 If you think teenage parents do not face stereotyping and stigma, then I am truly happy you haven't experienced it. Assuming I am uneducated, ignorant, uninformed, a 'slut' (one of the many ugly words I've been called) or a 'dole-bludger' is basically complying with the labels that society slaps on me, like I am some sort of cookie-cut out. Having my parenting questioned on the basis of my age is completely out of line. I ask of you to challenge your preconceived ideas, of ANYONE, the next time you meet someone new, and approach them with a clean slate. Teen parents like me will thank you for it.

Parenting tips, fueled by copious amounts of wine.

This blog post is brought to you from my bed, where I am perusing this century's most thought-provoking and mentally-challenging TV series (Dance Moms), drinking a refreshing and hydrating iced fruit drink (wine) and sitting next to Charlotte while she entertains herself via educational apps on the iPad (YouTube).

Anyway, this blog post is about parenting. I like to think I'm an okay parent. I mean, Charlotte's still alive. Here is proof:

This was taken today. I swear.

Whenever I have the pleasure of meeting people, they ask me, "Hoooow do you do it? I can't imagine ever having a child. Argh. I don't know how you do it." Really I want to reply "Yeah, look I don't know how I do it either," but instead I thought I'd jot down some of my insightful wisdom into the dog's breakfast that is parenting. Maybe you'll see that, while difficult (so freaking difficult that I think I might just quit), parenting my daughter is also the best thing to ever happen to me. 

Parenting tips for the time-poor, sometimes lazy but mostly just busy parent.

1. Teach your kids to be independent.

I love hanging out with Charlotte. She's awesome. Anyone that knows her knows she is the bees knees. But let's get real here. I don't really have the time, energy or patience to sit with her for hours every day and entertain her, no matter how much I wish I did. So while I take time out to spend with Charlotte and do things with her, as a result of our lives she has also learnt how to play by herself and entertain herself. This is a Godsend. Firstly, it gives me time to do the shit I need to, and secondly, it teaches her that my entire life doesn't revolve around her. I provide her with stimulating and engaging toys and materials and it's her job to do something with it. Like I always tell her, only boring people get bored. 

2. It's all about give and take.

Char  is a good kid. She knows what's important in life, because I've taught her that. Which is why I pick my battles. I think parenting is about giving kids the opportunity to grow and foster their characters and personalities, but at the same time guiding them in life lessons and teaching them how to be upstanding members of society. And wipin' a few butts along the way. So in this war which we call parenthood, I don't mind losing a few battles to hold on to my sanity. Screw it, have that Kinder Surprise, or dessert before dinner. If you're having a bad day and are in a bad mood, ride it out, I won't bother you. Yes, wear the weird outfit that you insist is totally fashionable, even thought I already dressed you. I honestly think things like this are so irrelevant, but time and time again i see other parents struggle against it. 

3. Foster a routine that works for you.

My entire life is basically scheduled, and when it isn't, it gives me anxiety. Every day and night we do basically the same thing. Charlotte goes to daycare Monday-Thursday, while I do whatever I need to do. I pick her up, we go home, she has dinner and a little play. She has a bath, we read books, she goes to sleep. I make plans around this routine and it is what Charlotte expects. My boyfriend and my family know this is her routine and follow it too. Even though our life is super busy, this is something that is constant for Char and it works for us. Plus she's asleep by 7:30 so I can follow MY routine: drink three glasses of wine and watch crappy TV with Duncan. 

4. YOUR HAPPINESS MATTERS TOO.

When people say their kids are their entire life, it makes me sad for them. How boring. I love Charlotte obviously. She's the best. But come on. I have an identity other than being a mother (thank God). And I want my kid to know that. I want her to grow up and see that a woman isn't confined to the home to raise children. And for my own sanity and my child's happiness, I HAVE to have a life outside of being a mother. I make an effort to take time for myself, which makes me a better mother. It also teaches Charlotte that, oh my God, not EVERYTHING is about her. 

5. Make it fun. Don't take it so seriously.

Parenting is freaking hard. I know. I've been doing it since I was 16. It's not always fun. The daily grind is crappy. Your kid doesn't appreciate you most of the time. You just don't care about looking good anymore. You don't have the time or energy for your relationships that you used to. But the best thing about parenting is being a complete goose. Charlotte is my best friend and we are literally insane. And I don't even care. It's awesome. I've been known to threaten her by chopping her head off. She's been known to pull my dress up in public... like she did today, which was super embarrassing. We sing songs. We hold impromptu fashion shows. We dance in the kitchen. We play 'Operation' on Pumpkin. Make the little things the best memories for them. 

Exhibit A.

But basically my biggest parenting tip is to cut yourself some slack. I have a little voice in my brain that pretty much critiques every single thing I do, and cuts me down every time. I find it really hard to acknowledge my own successes. But the one thing I am always 100% proud of is my kid. When I look at her, I think I'm doing okay. We're all doing the best we can. 

Enjoy my expert parenting tips. Now you too can hang on by a thread and hope for the best. At least I'm hangin' on! 

Exam procrastination and the great breakfast debate.

If this whole teaching thing doesn't work out, I definitely have a back-up career in professional procrastination. I'm a profesh procrastinator. My procrastination comes in all shapes and sizes. For example: procrasticleaning. I will suddenly discover 84 extremely urgent chores that I MUST address before even THINKING about my assignment. It is not unlike me to wash my car, sort clothes, change sheets or put 6 loads of washing on when I have a 50% unit plan due the next day. I also procrastiblog, apparently. And procrastiwhine (who doesn't?)... the list goes on.

So, while I am meant to be studying for my exam on Friday, which is a unit that I just wallow in, show up to occasionally and desperately rely on my friend's knowledge of.. I'll tell you a little story.

Charlotte is the worst - and I mean THE WORST - breakfast eater known to man. Or even eater in general. Really, she only eats yellow food. I'm not sure if it's intentional or not. But if it's not yellow, it's not goin' in that kid's mouth. Her diet basically consists of cheese, bread, macaroni and cheese, corn, mashed potato, bananas or spaghetti. And when I say spaghetti, I mean just boiled spaghetti pasta with absolutely no topping. If I'm lucky, or if she's feeling kind (okay... if I bribe her) she will eat oranges, apples, sausages and MAYBE tuna. She claims she eats tuna. Just not for me. One time she even ate baby spinach but I had to give her an old Easter egg after (disclaimer: this excludes, of course, all foods that typical children eat, like lollies, jelly, fairy floss, ice blocks etc). So pretty much, her dinner every night is a combination of those foods, and ALWAYS includes corn.

But what drives me nuts is breakfast. Breakfast takes probably 1.5 hours to eat. And being a studying/working mother, I don't have time for that shit. I am pretty much yelling every morning, "EEEEAAATTT YOOOOUUURRR BRRREEAAAKFAAAASST" like some sort of repetitive, tourette syndrome-having psychopath, and every morning she yells back "I. AAAMMMM," which is a downright lie because she most certainly is not.

Here is Charlotte, when she was MEANT to be eating her breakfast.

My question: does it ever end? Am I destined to make separate meals for all of my fussy, yellow-food eating children? I know the saying "If you don't eat dinner, you don't eat anything" but then how do you cope with the constant "I'm HUUUUNGRYYYY" that follows? It makes me want to do a Van Gogh and literally rip my ears off. And what is so good about yellow food? Someone enlighten me so I can keep my sanity. 

My exam calls. If you see a manic, crying, mumbling crazy person huddled in a corner somewhere, feverishly reading notes and then eating them, come and say hi. I won't bite. 

I'm baaaack!

Hi guys,


I haven't written in a while. Let's say... over two years. I know. I'm sorry.



But I'm back! I missed writing. I missed venting about my life. This platform is a good way for me to get the thousands of insane thoughts out of my brain without bombarding my Facebook friends with my rubbish. But if you are reading this, I assume you like my rubbish. It was entirely your intention to read my rubbish. For that, I thank you.

My now FOUR year old daughter is snoring loudly next to me. Her little hand is resting on my arm, because she has to have 'snuggles'. Therefore I'm typing super slowly, so I don't disturb her. Although when I think about how often she disturbs my sleep I almost want to. Just kidding (not really).

So. Jeez. Since my last post I have finished year 12 (!!!!!). At the same time I would have, if I stayed in school. Victory dance. And, in 5 days, after my last exam, I will be officially halfway through my teaching degree. That means in 2 years I could very well be teaching your children, brothers and sisters or nieces and nephews. If they're lucky.

Like I said before, Charlotte is now four years old. Halfway to eight years old. A quarter of the way to 16... no, nope, nup, not going there yet. She is blonde-haired, blue-eyed, kind, thoughtful, bright, strong-willed, a liiiiittle bit bossy and so intelligent it blows my mind (stop asking me how clouds stay in the sky. I don't know). She does ballet, even though it makes her "sooooo tired" and she hates having her hair in a bun. She starts pre-school next year. She tells me she loves me every day.

I am also dating a really nice boy. He could be The One. Charlotte thinks he is. After seeing a very 80s wedding dress today in a seamstress shop, she requested I wear one just like it at my wedding. Also tells anyone who will listen that our baby is named William. FYI, there is no baby. His name is Duncan, or Pumpkin as he is affectionately known as in our house. While sleep-talking the other night, Charlotte says "I love Pumpkin more than a bag!" so I guess that's a lot.

Thanks for reading my rambling crap. Next I'll probably write about something totally ridiculous that I find interesting, like my obsession with washi tape or The Bachelor.

To finish, here is an adorable photo of my child. She's so cute, she doesn't even need a filter. Wish I could say the same.