Instead of watching another episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway, I type this post. Knowing that I’ll regret my choice soon enough. September 2015 I started a journey that was suppose to be my last but due to my recent truthfulness, it seems as if I will need to move on again. I have vowed to fight though but after voicenoting my friend, the not so rational one of the two of us; she has made me realise something that I think He has been trying to show me. Everything has come to a halt. The pipeline has just stopped. As if under some sort of maintenance. I am alot calmer. Less worried. Less frantic. I don’t think I will ever be completely ready to move on, unless they push me. Off the ledge. If I stay, I’ll change. It just makes sense. Because who can I trust? Everyone’s been telling me stories. Different sources. Same stories. If I stay, I will change. Morphe into a new me. A different me. A less likeable me. A more focused me. A more fuck you me. I just can’t believe it has come to this. This was meant to be it. The end of my beginning. The last stop on my journey. That’s what we said. That’s what we agreed upon. This was meant to be the closing chapter. My book has been written. Done. Finished. Complete. No more ink. No more paper. This has me broken, a lottle (a little but alot). There are not enough words to describe what I am expecting to happen. What I have been told. Word of mouth. The grapevine. Gossip Town. Skinner. Where is the accountability? I know when I leave you’ll speak about me, you’ve spoken about the ones before me. How crazy they were. What they did wrong. Does it hurt to pretend that much? Is it alot of upkeep having 2 faces? Why is it ok that I take the blame for unethical practices? Why is it ok that me being truthful and standing up for your baby has made me out to be the bad one? I won’t go down without a fight but this is in God’s hands now. He will equip me with the tools I need to fight whatever battle is set before me.
This is not something the kid has said to me but it is something that I can see in her face and in her actions
My actions aswell
When I put my job above the kid and above my maternal-ness then I become so stressed and short with her
I find spending time with her, when I am on a fuse, is frustrating and I would much rather be doing something else
I see it in her eyes when I bring the laptop to bed with me (yes, we co-sleep)
I see it in her pushiness to lay right in the crevice of my arm that she does not like that I am working
All the time
I can feel my not wanting to be present because I am concerned about the emails piling up in my inbox (my boss is single and a workaholic)
I can sense and relate to my frustration of “just one more Mommy”
I don’t just want to because I just can’t
Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with her and I wouldn’t have it any other way
I wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else than right here, right now with her
In an attempt to spend more time with me, she asked if she could accompany me to work
Not fully understanding that I would be working and therefore, would not be able to spend anytime with her
She said that’s ok, she will bring all her toys with and she will wait for me to get done with work
When did I become such a lack luster mother?
My weekends were filled with going to the park and making sure that she never felt neglected or second best
Least not to a job
She is my one and only responsibility in this world
Why is it so easy to just say “Not now” when “Not now” turns into “Never”
This post was going to be titled “Having a kid is frustrating and this is why” or something like that but I soon realised that this is not her fault
She is a child
5 years old
Clearly reaching out to me, her mother, with her baby talk
Asking for uppies and wanting to be hugged and kissed at random
This is not her fault
That I am neglecting her and making her feel second best to a laptop screen
If I cannot teach her that time is invaluable then what can I teach her?
She already knows that mommy works a lot and all the time but what values am I to instill in her if I cannot even make the time for “2 minutes”
It is not her fault that I have chosen, for the past few weeks and a few times before that, to put my job first
It is not her fault that she goes to bed sad, wondering why mommy does not want to play “Barbie Barbie”
It is not her fault because she is a child
She is my child
She must be made to feel loved
Not just on Insta selfies or FB videos, but real life
No wanting to impress other mommies
She is a child who did not ask to be here
She is a child who I have vowed to protect
She is a child who is innocently asking “Please Mommy”
@ 5 years old she might’ve experienced her first heartbreak, I just can’t believe I was the one to cause it
I was recently approached by a company outside of SA wanting to know if I would be interested in submitting a post on the future of design.
If I chose to submit and become involved, all I had to do was type up a few words on what I think the future of design would be like. Now, as many of you know, I most probably don’t have a creative bone in my body and I am outlandish when I do think of something creative. It always needs to be out there and crazy.
Well, after a few follow up emails from one of their employees, I decided that this must be legit and here I am, typing instead of finishing my last hour of actually-get-paid-work.
My thoughts on the future of design? (please don’t be surprised that this will take a mommy turn)
*I don’t even know if this will be consistent or correct*
We will have a lot more youngsters and sane deprived parents coming up with a way to improve their lives and homes
Mommies will come up with ideas on how to recycle and reuse items of clothing and bottles so that we no longer damage the Earth
Daddies will come up with ways to feed the children without wasting any time cutting and chopping up those I-don’t -eat vegetables
Non parents will come up with ways to better improve your homing system, so that Lego no longer hurts when you step on it in the middle of the night and that you’re able to ninja your way out of your child’s room and not get “caught”
Hell, they might even design something where your child needs to input a password before coming into the parents’ room when they are having “special” time
Now, this post is not about design but it sure was fun thinking about the future and the technological designs and advances that will most probably happen in the next 2 years or so.
At 31, I’ll feel as ancient as BC
I have one of those faces. That if you saw me in the street, you’d know that you know me but you’d never quite figure out my name or how you know me. Cue the quickly averted gaze and pondering mind. I am sorry to say but I am forgettable. I am one of those chicks you attended highschool with, we might’ve hung out once or twice. I attended dance class with you for a year or so. We even sat right next to each other and shared a laugh. Like an autumn leave, just begging to be noticed, just a gust of wind blows me past you. Still enough for a moment of recognition but never enough for “Oh, she played a significant role in my life”
I don’t want to be the one who told you to not have that abortion, I don’t want to be your-behind-the-screen friend and I sure as hell don’t want to be that kin from now the other day.
I would like you to remember my name. I would like you to have a decent recount of how you know me. Not just that kin who had one too many berks on school.
I’ve always felt that I was never one of those. Those, that 10 years down the line, could confidently say I had 100% genuine experiences. I fucked it up. Most of it. I was too much all of the time. Too much of everything and I think people just ended up feeling sorry for me. I never made the best of anything, I took advantage. I don’t have any friends. I don’t know how to make friends. I am 28, a single mom and for the most part, I fucked up.
When you see me, all 1.49m and 80 + kg’s of me, I hope you stop and reminisce of only the worthy traits. How I made you laugh on highschool or how I was always that one friend who would defend you even if it meant I landed up worse off. I hope that you remember me.
People always ask me what my worst fear is and it’s not death. It’s that in dying, at my funeral, at my last rememberance, the pews will be empty, filled only by the obligatory family, not attending for respect but for food.
Just stop for a second and stop the judgement. I’ll give you your 15 seconds of judge sometime soon.
Imagine the scene, I step out of the shower and the kid is sitting directly opposite me putting on her socks.
Kid: Mommy, why do you say fuckin when you get mad at me?
*cue shocked facial expression and laughter*
Me: What? Why do I say what?
Kid: Mommy, why do you say fuckin when you get mad at me?
*cue more laughter because apparently I am a terrible mother & don’t know how to handle situations in an adult way*
Me: Oh. Uhmm, I only say it when I’m really upset but I mustn’t hey
Kid: Yes, you mustn’t say fuckin
Me: Jesus doesn’t like it when you say that word. It’s a bad word. It’s a swear word.
Kid: *acting very shocked that I have now accused her of swearing* I never said it, you did
Me: I know, it’s very bad. I won’t say it again. You mustn’t it again, ok? *soon after I mouthed WTF*
Kid: Yes, I won’t say it again
Ok, here you go……….your 15 seconds of judge
1. For me allowing my 5 year old daughter to see me naked
2. For cussing infront of her
I cuss infront of her when I am completely 100% bedonnered. It’s just me and her. The 2 of us. So when I’ve just had enough of everything, swearing is my way of releasing that tension because it’s either that or punching a wall. I’ve tried screaming into a pillow – it does not work.
Also, I cussed infront of her like months ago – she needs to chill
As for the naked part – as parents, we hardly get time to do anything, let alone on our own so yip, that’s my reasoning.
Driving the point home? I typed this post, on my phone while I was on the loo and even then she interuppted me to tell me
” I love you”
“Sorry I’m just collecting my cards”
“Kid: Mama, I don’t have enough fresh air
Me: Huh? What?
So tomorrow marks a somewhat important day in my life. The day I decided to take charge of my fat arse, slowly & get in shape. Triangle. Octagon. Not round. It’s going to be hard, like fuckin hard. Like tweezing your vag hair hard but I’ll have to get through it. I am 28 years old. Weigh closer to a 100kg’s than I’d like to admit and simple tasks, like walking and talking, makes me pants. I am not unfit, I am not fit enough. I still look pregnant. 5 years later. I’m small hey so round is not a good shape on me. I’m 1.49m so I expand, badly.
I’m taking it step by step. Eliminating certain factors, a few days at a time. Taking it slow. I know that I am going to feel like shit and that I am going to hate the world but if this is what it takes for me to appreciate being alive and here, then that is what I will do. I will 100% feel like dying but I will, somewhere deep down inside, find the fuckin balls to carry on.
I’ll be documenting my journey on Instagram with daily updates. Follow me to see alot of FUCK ME pictures and captionless feeds.
It started on BBC 1 just started last week Tuesday and is based on a true story of the pre teen victims of a sexual exploitation / grooming ring.
It also sheds a light on how these young ladies were let down by authorities. It covers topics on how the girls were overwhelmed with free alchohol, food and smokes. The sexual grooming was done by a few men,about 9 – 15 & there were more than 50 victims over the space of 4 + years.
Three Girls focuses more on Amber, Ruby & Holly.
I think you should watch this 3 part true story series because as parents, we need to be less focused on our screens and more on our kids. Especially in South Africa. Things are just insane and with all the rapes and murders happening, we certainly need to be more open that not everyone is as “clean cut” as us.
Our kids are at risk to something bigger than us. Let us educate them & stay aware.
I’m not sure how this Mother’s Day thing works but in South Africa, it’s this Sunday; which also happens to be my dad’s birthday. Now, this is not a rant post or a “I don’t celebrate Mother’s Day” or some other shit like that; – it is simply as titled
Don’t tag me this Mother’s Day
I know you mean well and I appreciate it but I do not have time to be tagged with a million of your other friends and then get bombarded by the friends that liked or commented on your post. That shit is annoying! Yes, thank you for remembering that I am a Mother and that this one day in the entire year is dedicated to me being bombarded and shitfaced with WhatsApp messages and Facebook tags. Please don’t. I’d much rather you send me a WhatsApp message that I can open and then ignore. It’s easier. So simple.
So, please, this Mother’s Day, go ahead & wish me (include some REAL chocolates when you send my wishes) but please, pretty pretty please, Don’t tag me this Mother’s Day
So just the other day I was waiting for the elevator on the 9th floor. It was time to go home. I had on my work uniform. 3 elevators and a constant wait time of what seemed like hours. Elevator to my left opens up. A whole bunch of male construction workers and I politely decline with a “I’ll take the next one”. A mere 6 second before the elevator doors close again, delivering them to their desired floor, I get catcalled. Let that sink in. In 2017. In my work uniform. On my way home, so roughly at 3h30 in the afternoon, I get a few of the below
– whistled at
– yor girl you look sexy
– ow girl what’s your name
– naai you can get in
Now, these male construction workers were roughly aged between 35 and 45. Not to say I don’t expect it but perhaps from the younger, more immature generation? The first thought I had as these elevator doors closed and I was forced to wait for what now seemed like another 2 hours was
– Oh, just fuck off
– How immature
Sidenote: I have been single for 4 years and there has been no interest from any species. Also, I have a almost 5 year old.
Will she have to endure this, years down the line? Will her kids have to endure this? Generally, I have mastered the art of ignoring and when I do get catcalled, which is almost never, I turn my head up and ignore. Call me a bitch or sturvy but I’d much rather be sturvy than entartaining; to catcallers, that is
Man oh man. Times like this I wish I had a significant other who I could just vent to. Just to have someone to cry to and tell me that everything would be ok. Even if it wasn’t. A small lie is better than the angst I feel and the sadness that is slowly simmering inside of me. I really do wish that any place was a safe place. I don’t have any friends and I certainly don’t have a significant other. With everything else going on, surely it could not get any worse? Like a bomb it hit me. It could get worse. It did get worse. Who do I talk to? You? I doubt you even care. You probably stopped reading. I can start talkinh about my period now, right? I have buddies. Yes. But do they really want to listen to me blab about what seems to have become an insistent problem? It’s always something or other but this month? A whole 3/4 gone. What am I suppose to do? You didn’t even have the decency to tell me. I had to drag it out of you. Like dragging a tapeworm out of your arse. It’s ok though. Right? Because we’re family & because I am just such a softy. Always agreeable. Never fighting back. Never standing my ground because at the end of the day I have always been the one to be blamed. I started the fight. I started this entirely long, non sensical post. Me. Not anyone else. I should stand my ground. On this atleast. Teach her something. I don’t know though if I want to. Have to. I could just report you but then I’d be blamed again. Do I have time for that? I just want someone I can be weak with. Vulnerable. Being strong. The dependable one. Sucks. Even now. All the time even. As I dry my almost tears. It sucks. You suck.