Some Days Are Sh*t - Why I Decided to Publish a Brutally Honest Parenting Book
Written by the best-selling author, Rebecca Oxtoby
I’ve always wanted children. In fact, when our time came to try, and we didn’t fall pregnant immediately, I was crushed. I will never forget the heartache of walking through the maternity clinic to get to our fertility appointment: bitterly jealous of every woman in there with a bump. Everyone apart from me.
Fast forward 3 years, a fertility treatment and a pregnancy later, and I found myself with a newborn. A beautiful baby girl: all I had ever wanted. The visitors came and went, and my husband returned to work following his 3 weeks of paternity leave. It was just us now. I assumed that because I’d always imagined children, and I’d prayed so desperately for this little girl, that I’d be a natural mother. I thought I’d thrive at every moment, and that she would perfectly slot into our busy lives.
I definitely didn’t think I’d ever use words like boring, underwhelming or suffocating. But three months down the line, I was miserable. The love for this little girl was immeasurable, but something was missing. I’d changed. In fact, I couldn’t even recognise myself anymore. The busy, driven and career-focused women had gone, well, at least so I’d thought. I had become a nappy-changing milk machine whose only role was to keep this little person alive. It was all-encompassing, and yet, I felt empty. I missed the buzz of work, the freedom to leave my home without a holdall and a person clinging to my chest. I missed my old life. Nobody tells you that you’ll grieve your old life, no matter how wonderful your new life seems.
So I started to write. I wrote down all of these awful, scary and new emotions that I couldn’t possibly share with anyone else. I was meant to ‘enjoy every moment’. I was meant to savour every second of new mum life. After all, I’d wished for it for years.
I wrote down these secret emotions. I documented the beautiful times, the hilarious moment, and the tough ones too, and before I knew it, it was a book.
Months down the line, and with over 1500 copies of Mum’s the Word in circulation, I’ve learnt that I’m not alone. In fact, the book has provided solace to many new parents, and given hundreds a good giggle during the night-feed. Here’s a snippet of what to expect:
Internet
At one time, there were a handful of parenting books, a health visitor telephone number and your own intuition when it came to raising a child. And kids survived.
Nowadays, the world is littered with websites, blogs and vlogs on how to smash motherhood. The only problem is, these keyboard Hunz often have no childcare credentials beyond the fact that they popped their kid out two months before you did.
That doesn’t make you an expert, Courtney.
(And before you say it, I’ve already told you this isn’t a parenting manual: Lord knows I haven’t the faintest fuck what I’m doing).
But, come on: there needs to be a ban on girls called Toni-Ann from posting advice on Facebook forums, and Mumsnet members should be forced to list their IQ before they can join.
I learned my lesson when our 10-day old Isabelle was constipated and I had tried all the tricks in the book: bicycle legs, tummy massage, the lot. We even massaged her little bum hole with warm cotton wool like Dr Google said.
Nothing was working, and her screaming was breaking my heart. Sensible Mama-me called the ward and asked for advice, listing all our previous endeavours and praying for an answer. The midwife, yes, a qualified midwife from the ward that birthed my daughter, told me to give her cooled boiled water.
This isn’t usually recommended as it fills up little tummies but lacks nutrients, but as she was full to the brim, they suggested that it may help her on her way to a poop - and save our sanity and bleeding ears.
We tried, and 10 minutes later, impatient silly-sod, naïve Mama-me went onto a Facebook newborn support group to find the next solution:
again listing all of our endeavours and the midwife’s suggestion. Some trollop called Helen, whose bio was ‘LiVe, LaUgH, LoVe’, commented back immediately, ‘God Hun you really shouldn’t be giving your daughter water.’
No advice, no support, just her high horse opinion. It really upset me, so I made the decision right then to boycott these sites, and somehow Isabelle has made it (relatively unscathed) to her first birthday. So fuck you, Helen.
I’m so passionate about honest parenting. We need to move away from the Insta-perfect, filtered and flawless depiction of motherhood. Not only is it unattainable, but it’s damaging to the mental health of so many parents. There is no Supermum. She’s a myth. And the sooner we realise that the small things, like a shower or a successful feed, are what quantifies success, the sooner the pressure will ease. We’ve got this Mama.
Mum’s the Word: the sh*t nobody tells you about parenthood is available on Amazon in paperback and e-book now.
Written by Rebecca Oxtoby
Author of best-selling book, Mum’s the Word.