Mummyblogging is dead.
We all know it.
It died in the face of perfectly filtered instagram photos, posed and cropped for maximum rose-coloured-glasses blur. It died in the face of recipes full of hidden vegetables and sickly coconut oil truffle imposters. It died in the face of all our kids grew up and we realised we couldn’t talk about them on the Internet anymore. It died in the face of sponsored post after sponsored post, hey guys, look at my brand new glasses/holiday/chocolate brownies with no real chocolate in. It died, and we mourn its passing in the same way we kind of mourn leggings as pants (long live the yoga pants, you can pry them off my dead body) and real cake with real sugar and actual gluten (holy fuck I miss gluten).
If I was mummyblogging still, I would tell you about Evelyn laying so still, and so calm, as she was measured for a full body orthotic suit to help keep her joints together at kindergarten next year. I would tell you about dislocating joints, and muscle fatigue and pain, about how she tries so hard, but her muscles can’t do the job of her ligaments all of the time and she’s so very tired. I would tell you how she wants to play and dance and run, and can’t, but maybe she can soon again. With a little help.
I would tell you how Evelyn spoke to another child at prekinder today – a first for her. She asked someone to play and they did, and then they ran around together, two small children, riding bikes and playing in the water together. I would tell you how she excitedly told her teacher in front of the entire class that we put up our Christmas tree early and I was so proud of her for using her words that I nearly burst, because this child. This child of mine, she struggles sometimes to find the words in new situations or with new people or even with people she sees regularly, like her prekinder classmates.
I would tell you about the whining whining whining until your teeth are as on edge as mine, but maybe it’s pain, maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe being four and the littlest just is the Worst Thing Ever and so there’s that tone in her voice until you just want to scream.
I would tell you all about how seven sucks so badly you can taste it, but ten is pretty awesome, and there’s a sense of humour brewing in there, even if it is borderline inappropriate sometimes. Hilarious though.
I would tell you about trying to juggle what is best academically with what is best physically for a child who needs help in both of these areas. I would tell you about the exhaustion of shouting GO TO BED a hundred times in a row until finally they crash and you crash and there’s not enough hours in the day.
I would tell you all about juggling school commitments and work, and parenting bendy kids with bendy joints and bendy quirky brains. I would tell you about packing soap with a child screaming under the worktable until your eyes spin around and everything is ruined forever.
I would tell you all of these things, but mummyblogging is dead.