Читать книгу Mojo Mama Secrets - Nedahl Stelio - Страница 3

Ahhh, mumdom. That wonderful, exclusive club where you’re treated to all the love, hugs and kisses you could ever want from your cuddly, snuggly, scrumptious little ones. The beautiful warmth and heavenly fulfillment is yours to cherish while you revel in everything from their addictive smell to those delicious little pinky toes and their squishy tummies.

Motherhood fills you up like marshmallow hot chocolate. Hugs you like a big brown teddy bear. You inhale it like a warm, wonderfully complex, all-consuming breath of pure goodness. It envelops you, making you feel loved, happy and incredibly content. There’s nothing like having a child to fill your heart … in fact, it’s kind of like walking around with your actual heart on the outside of your body, all exposed and helpless. That’s how you feel about your kids. You’re ridiculously scared something might happen to them, and your inner lioness roams free. You will do anything to protect them. That feeling, blissful satisfaction meshed with fierce protectiveness and an outpouring of love is what mumdom is all about. There’s so much love it can be overwhelming at times. And mother’s instinct? Everything it’s cracked up to be. It’s a joyous experience.

But just because we love being mums, doesn’t mean we don’t sometimes mourn the woman we used to be. The fun, spontaneous gal who could say yes to a drink after work without a thought of racing to pick up the kids from childcare. Or spend an entire afternoon reading a book on the grass in the sunshine. Or could get her roots done. Just. Like. That. Right now, that would involve some major planning and booking of babysitters or asking parents and in-laws and sisters and calling in favours you never thought you’d need to call in. It would involve packing bags full of nappies and snacks and changes of clothes and toys and various methods of transporting the children: strollers, scooters, trikes, a front carrier perhaps. You can never just drop everything and go.

“I’ve always worked in fashion and was extremely social”

And that’s okay. For a while. Until you’re craving adult conversation so much you realise you’ve been chatting to your local butcher for half an hour, and your idea of time to yourself is when you’re on the toilet. For the 10 seconds before someone crawls in.

I’ve always worked in fashion and was extremely social. Lived it, breathed it, loved it in a high-flying job as Editor of CLEO, one of Australia’s biggest magazines, where four-inch heels were a daily occurrence and I was never “off-trend” with my wardrobe. Then I owned an online fashion store, Cocolee.com.au and wrote a daily fashion blog. I’ve been a Beauty Editor, a Health Editor, Lifestyle Editor and a Style Editor.

Oh it sounds glamorous, doesn’t it?

Then I had kids.

And I woke up one day to find myself schlepping around the house in old cargoes that fit me when I was pregnant but were now falling down, a t-shirt smeared with mushy pumpkin, and my bird’s nest hair appeared to be matted down in one spot with banana. I had to do a double take. Who was that, staring back at me, with no penchant (or budget) for new clothes and no time for a wax? There was a twinge in my back I knew just one yoga session would fix, but I hadn’t been able to make it there. I’d fallen so far off my style pedestal that I didn’t really have any incentive – or inclination – to climb back up. Or did I? I call it my “lost-it” moment. When I realized I’d lost all sense of self to mothering.

My children are and always have been my biggest priority and where I spent most of my time – as they well should be – but it was clear that my outward appearance was suffering. And with it, my self confidence. I realised I was a little awkward. Embarrassed about my social ineptness and inability to talk about anything except the children. A lack of financial freedom (because inevitably, it’s the woman who gives up her job and therefore all the fringe benefits that come with it) contributed to my poor self image. I found it hard to justify buying anything for myself because I wasn’t the one bringing home the bacon. And oh, how I missed those girl’s nights where we would gasbag for hours over a bottle of red.

“Who was that, staring back at me? With no time for a wax and mushy pumpkin on her t-shirt?”

I found myself getting rather down about, well, everything. Nothing was good enough. My body, my wardrobe, my eating habits, my conversation, my attempts at working from home, my homemaking skills, my cooking, my social life. I was failing it all. And while I loved being a mum, I often questioned whether this was all I’d do. Would anyone want to hire me after I had finished my stint at home? Did I ever want to end my stint at home?

Somehow, somewhere between the birth (or before!) and now, you feel like you’ve lost your mojo. It’s not one thing you can put your finger on, it’s a bunch of different things. You feel a little like you’ve lost the bits that make you YOU, a woman, not just a mother.

It’s tough, this mum gig. And I say mums purposely. Sure, dads are there all the way too, but they return to their pre-baby (PB) life a hell of a lot faster. Two weeks and they’re back at work. They say goodbye just as the baby lets loose an ear-splitting scream, while you run in to settle her. Or bath/feed/play/do whatever is absolutely necessary to keep the baby happy. It’s a wonderful feeling, being able to do that, and we put everything we’ve got into it. But as the days stretch into months and possibly years for some of us, it can be very isolating. Lonely even. Even if your friends are going through exactly the same thing, you can’t always get out to see them. And spending time on myself just made me feel guilty. Yes, the dreaded mother guilt exists even if you don’t go back to work straight away!

As mums, we will never do what we did PB. It’s impossible. We can go to work of course, but a huge part of us will always be where the children are. And that life we used to have, that person we used to be. Those things we’d talk about, live through and thought were the extremity of importance? Gone.

In a good way. Make that a great way. This is a brilliant place and I wouldn’t swap it for the world. I love that I’ll never be that person again – I’ve already been that person. This is a new chapter in the book of my life and I want it to be the best chapter possible.

“Enjoy the new mumdom. Bask in it, relish it, savour it, have a bath in it.”

I had the most ridiculous epiphany moment, I’m almost too embarrassed to share but I will.

I’d been wearing the same light, pinky-neutral toenail polish since my cousin’s wedding three months prior. It was badly smudged, which happened when I first did it, but I’d never bothered to fix it (I was lucky enough just to get some colour on there at all and get my daughters ready in time, if you ask me). So I was walking around with this awful, chipped, smudged, grown out nail polish on my toes when I finally decided to change the colour. But instead of reaching for my same ol’ shade of safe neutral, I pulled out a bottle of rarely-used red. Now, it was the beginning of winter. As I work from home, my feet barely saw the outside of ugg boots and trainers, but I had this nagging feeling, I was compelled to try and make my feet look as good as they could. And nothing looks better than bright red polish on pale winter skin.

Five minutes later, my toes were the prettiest, sexiest, most glam shade of red I had ever seen. They shone in the sunlight. They winked at me from the corner of my eye. They said everything about me that I wanted to say. That I cared enough to have beautiful toes even in winter. That I was well groomed. That I was a woman, not just a mother. Important. Just to me.

That day, even though it was cold, I wore flat sandals to push my little one on the swing at the park, just so I could continue to stare at my dazzling toes. I could see the other mums look at my feet, probably wondering how I was daring to bare them in the wind, but I liked to think they were getting inspired to paint their own toenails when they got home. And in doing so, get a faint connection to their old self again.

That’s when I realised that taking time out, even just those five minutes, could make an enormous difference to my psyche. Within half an hour I’d called – and actually spoken to – a friend, changed out of my sloppy pants and said no to the almond croissant tempting me at the coffee shop.

And slowly, but surely, I worked on getting my mojo back (because yes, unfortunately you do need to work at it, it won’t just miraculously reappear on its own). It wasn’t easy, and didn’t happen overnight, but good things tend to take time.

This book is for mums, and soon-to-be-mums who feel like their life has escaped from them. A little bit, or a lot. Who feel like they’ve lost themselves amongst children and work and life and wife-ing or girlfriending and probably cleaning and cooking and most definitely washing. Oh God, the washing.

It’s for mums who are completely ready to begin focusing on themselves again. This takes time. Weeks for some, months for others and years for others still. Do it when you’re completely ready. Because if you’re perfectly happy stomping about in trackies and letting hair grow in places that haven’t seen hair for years, that’s perfectly fine, I’m not about judging. Everyone should take as long as they like. Enjoy the new mumdom. Bask in it, relish it, savour it, have a bath in it. And then, if and only if, you feel like you need to stick a toe out of the water, this book will be here, ready and waiting.

Whether you need your own epiphany moment or whether painting your toenails is so far down on your priority list you think I’m insane, know this: Mothers need time to themselves, full stop. Whether it’s taking a pottery class or flaking out in front of trashy TV. This book is going to empower you to find different ways to make that time, and to help you feel better about yourself. Because no matter what is happening in our lives, we all deserve to feel good.