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Friday, 23 March 2012

Motherly Madness
Chuck yourself on, why don't you?
You know, as a mother I've been privy to all sorts of child-rearing bollocks, but fuck it. If a mother wants to breastfeed until her kid's graduation, I really couldn't give a shit. Yet (yeah, you knew it was coming) there is one trait displayed by some mothers that makes me twitch violently: self-imposed martyrdom.
Sorry, but I find motherly martyrdom so fucked up that my brain sweats when I think about it. And by martyrdom I mean that thing when some mothers proudly announce that they haven't shaved their legs/ cut their hair/ moisturised in four years because they love their kids too much to spare the time. 
I'm not banging on about being too busy to take a shit. Jesus, that's all of us. I'm talking about the giant, flag-waving gesture of renouncing the person you really are because this, apparently, makes you a better mother. 
Look, motherhood changes everyone, and not just from the ladygarden down. But this notion that you have to sacrifice yourself in some ritual burning of your entire pre-kid life and personality is about as healthy as chewing glass. I've watched some mothers wither away after adopting this wild-eyed notion and it's abso-fucking-lutely terrifying. 
When I got knocked up I promised myself that, whatever chaos raged, I would always put on my mascara, just because it reminds me that I matter too. I know! The audacity! And fuck me if I've stayed true to my word, even when it's been done to the tune of infant shrieking. 
See, I'm the opposite of martyred mothers. I take pride in taking time to paint my toenails. And no, this doesn't make me a less caring, loving mother, as much as my blog makes some of you want to call Social Services. In fact it contributes to the notion that all of us, in this little kraken family, matter. Not just Kraken Junior, but I, the Kraken, and Conjugal Kraken too. And that means we all grab a slice of the happiness rather than handing it lock, stock n barrel to Kraken Junior for her to snot all over it. What in the fuck would be the good of that?
So can we pour cold water over these personality pyres that some mothers light when their offspring slop from their bodies? It's like some twisted form of imprisonment, with the kids rattling the keys. Fuck knows, motherhood can be cruel enough as it is don'tcha think?

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