The War Against Mammy


My little fella is finally growing into normal, non premature baby, clothes sizes. Which gives us a lot more choice thankfully, because as cute as the tiny dungarees we got in Tesco were, after 8 weeks we were getting a little tired of the same four outfits! I’ve become one of those people who finds it difficult to walk past the baby section in any clothes shop, or Tesco, without picking up a little top, or dungarees, or cardigan (I really need to stop with the super cute cardigans, we are not getting cold enough weather for the gorgeous tiny things I pick up!). In my quest to fill my sons life with the cutest of the cute clothes that now finally fit him, I’ve discovered a prejudice against Mammy. 

I’ve managed to pick up numerous little tops and bibs that go on about how handsome/strong/cool/incredible Daddy is. Daddy is the king of the world as far as his wardrobe is concerned. Which is all well and good, and very cute, but what about the woman who gave 9 months of a troublesome pregnancy and 35 hours of frustration to get him into the world? Where are the “My Mammy is amazing” tshirts, bibs and overalls? Nowhere to be seen. I’ve searched, believe me. Not as a vanity exercise for the most part, though I did feel like equalising the playing field a little, moreso a discovery mission. Not an jota to be seen in any of the shops I’ve looked in (and my wanderings of the city have led me into any and every shop with buggy access). 

Instead, we have a barrage of “My mummy is great” clothes. Mummy. Mum, at a push. God how I hate those words. I’m not Mummy, or Mum. I’m not anything at the moment to be fair, but when we’re talking in the third person to the little man its Mammy, or Mom at a push, and I’m not so happy about Mom. But everything clothing wise rants and raves about how incredible Mummy is, and not a word about Mammy. Mammy who stays up all night with screaming baby, Mammy who struggles through breastfeeding after a c section, Mammy who has fallen in love with tiny gremlin who makes her so wrecked all the time. 

I know these companies are English and thats why, but why are there no Irish lines to be found, for some variety? I’ve googled it, and heres the insult to injury, it corrected my search “Mammy Sleepsuit” to “Mummy Sleepsuit”, thinking I clearly had it wrong, using the Irish google search engine. Apparently you can get them custom made, but I’d rather be able to walk into a shop, in a country where the vast majority of mothers are mam, mammy or ma, and see something I’m wanting to put on my child!


This Mummy craic in a country of mainly Mammies is simply not on…


(Pic at the top is from the Tesco website). 

Holidays to Wexford

We’re off to Nanny and Grandad’s for the week to be looked after, and to get a bit more variety on our wander around the city. Up to rural Wexford, where you can actually see the stars at night, and for some reason, the child sleeps… Latest discovery is glycerine and aniseed for the dummy. He loves it. Keeps the dummy in his mouth, keeps him calm and he sleeps. Between that and the swaddle blanket, he settles himself in the Moses basket. This hopefully isn’t a Wexford exclusive.Image

Went for a walk along the beach in Duncannon today – absolutely stunning weather, but little man isn’t too much of a fan of the breeze, so we didn’t stay long. Still though, makes a difference from the pouring rain restricting us to shopping centres…

10 Things I’ve Learned as a New Mammy

Going from LearnerMama’s Blog Linky, “Ten things I’ve learned as a Mother”, I’ve decided to add my list of discoveries of the last eight weeks to the pile. Its certainly been a journey of discovery, and while I’m fully aware this is only the beginning, I feel like its been a hell of an education so far.


  1. Sleep Deprivation is a form of torture, and a way of life, all at the same time. I could do college all over again, all nighters followed by gloriously long sleeps after exams, or 9am lectures when I’ve hit bed at 3.30/4am. Easy peasy. Old me didn’t realize that I’d have to cope on less than that, and be a fully functional human looking after another human at the same time. That said, I have started going to bed at 9pm when its not my turn to mind him – having a reserve of a few hours before it becomes my turn is all important – because he rarely sleeps when it is my turn.
  2. When the baby is asleep on you, you have two options. Stay under them, perfectly still until they naturally wake, or the more realistic option, needing to eat/pee/get on with your day so adopting the approach of that guy from 127 Hours. You can live without an arm or a leg. Could you really live with waking the baby?
  3. Breastfeeding is all natural, but not everyone is a natural at it. It can be a tough skill to learn – I know we started out really well and it all fell apart four days in when he decided to stop eating completely. The addition of nipple shields proved a fix but we’re now in the tough stage of weaning him off them as they’re messy, finicky and don’t let you get all of the milk out. You have to have support and determination and nobody tells you that beforehand so it can present as quite a shock.
  4. Getting out of the house is all important. I can generally be found rescuing my sanity by wandering around the same shops most days just to get away from the four walls of the house.
  5. The sling is incredible. Before having baby, I would never have put myself down as a babywearing, breastfeeding attachment parent. Necessity has proven me wrong. My little man screams if you put him down and don’t pay him attention, so the sling has afforded me my arms while he’s feeling safe and secure. I definitely recommend them!
  6. Mammy Guilt is very real. Leaving him for even a few minutes with someone else, for a well deserved break even when he is perfectly safe comes with a layer of guilt. Speaking in a harsh tone to him when I’m exhausted and he’s screaming. Not exclusively breastfeeding is a major one, not much aided by the breastapo, in particular a healthcare professional who when telling me he wasn’t gaining enough weight and I’d have to feed him some formula, told me it wouldn’t do him “too much” harm. As if it were poison. Even when breastfeeding, if I’ve eaten something that hasn’t agreed with him, or had a caffeinated coffee, the mammy guilt kicks in. Pointless but true.
  7. The fan in the bathroom contains his cries, or at least my paranoia has it that way. He will be asleep, I will run to get the worlds fastest shower, throw shampoo into my hair and bam, hes roaring. Hop out of the shower, shampoo still in half the hair, and he’s sleeping like an angel. Typical.
  8. Clothes sizes for little babies vary ridiculous amounts. As the mammy of a “tiny baby”, 5 lb 8 when he was born, finding clothes that aren’t swimming on him has been a task and a half. Very few lines do “Tiny Baby”, and even so, some of them have a very strange idea of what a tiny baby is. Generally the brands with MASSIVE newborn sizes (10lb) have their premature line of “Up to 7.5 lb” – which is newborn in some others. Mothercare and Pumpkin Patch are liable to this one. Generally Tesco has proven to be the best for sizes, if only they’d consistently stock the sizes and more than three little outfits J
  9. Baby sick is the most disgusting feeling. The consistency and volume of it. He has one sip too many without being burped and up comes anything he’s eaten this week. Nasty nasty.
  10. Despite all of this, all he has to do is look at me with those big brown eyes, smile in his sleep or grab my finger with his little hand and I melt to mush. I blame the sleep deprivation for how sappy I have become since motherhood has hit me.

So thats that – follow the link below to the rest of the 10 things posts people have done! Comment if you’ve found anything similar or have anything to add!



Wonder weeks aren’t so wonderful

Currently staring at the gorgeous sleeping tiny tyrant that is my son. Today he is gorgeous and lovely. Yesterday he was enacting his Guantanamo Bay torture techniques upon me, in what I can only hope was the tail end of wonder week number one. At seven weeks (corrected age four and a half weeks) it’s due, so here’s hoping that is what that is, or I may be liable for a tantrum on that scale myself.

The Moby sling is proving it’s weight in stretchy fabric, he loves it, sleeps in it, and it means not only do I have to not wrestle with the buggy to escape the house, but I’ve got two free hands to eat with and he still feels held and loved. It’s also got an owl on it, which makes me love it more. I’m still getting used to it and learning to trust that he won’t fall out of it, but it’s incredible and I would genuinely endorse it to anyone!!

In the meantime I seem to be on the eternal quest for post baby clothes and turning my run ragged look into some form of a “yummy mummy”-esque thing. Basically because I’m giving myself a serious complex by looking at other new mammies blogs/YouTube channels and wondering why they don’t have a new wonky figure that no jeans fit well at all or shitty skin or mahoosive rucksacks under their eyes from being up every hour and a half for the last two months. So to them I say “ah feck off”, and to the makeup ladies in Boots and Brown Thomas I seem to be saying “here is my wallet, make me BEAUTIFUL”. My bank account doesn’t quite know what’s hit it, and I’m wearing makeup brands I’ve never tried before. Got to love the bit of retail therapy for the sanity. The jeans are a battle (and a blogpost) for another day.