For the last few years there has been a dramatic rise in parent labelling. Like we don’t have a fuckload of enough to deal with already.

  • The Ten Parents You’ll Meet at Playgroups
  • The 5 Top Mummy Types
  • The 10 Dads You’ll Meet at Kids Parties
  • The 12 Parents You’ll Meet in Hell

You know the type of article right? I don’t hate them, I often read them and find myself wondering who the fuck I am. WHERE DO I FIT? In this pigeonholing hellfire of parenting, then suddenly I realised. I do what I want.

*Sharpe inhale* – I mean that I am sick of parenting categories, I am sick of labels, I’m fucking sick of OTHER parents labelling each other. Who died and made you owner of the sticker gun? No one, most likely. If you however feel like you own a label without other people telling you that it is so, then by all means do you boo boo.

What in fuck do you mean you do what you want?

I mean that in the course of my short parenting life of ten years, I have:

  • Formula Fed
  • Breastfed
  • Pushed kids in prams
  • Carried them for years in carriers
  • Coslept
  • Own beds, Moses basketed and own rooms
  • Tested CIO
  • Picked them up all the time
  • Been strict
  • Been relaxed
  • Chased them around a park shouting NO IT IS ALL TOO DANGEROUS
  • Ignored them completely and dicked about on my mobile
  • Fed them CHICKEN FUCKING NUGGETS – both homemade and fast food
  • Let them stay up late
  • Sent them to bed early
  • Home educated one
  • Sent one to school
  • Said some swear words in front of them at some point
  • Chastised others for swearing in front of them
  • Banned the tech for days
  • Let them play games on tech all day
  • Let them fight
  • Broken up their fights
  • Let them stay with relatives in another country for half the summer
  • Cried because I had to go away for work over night and I missed them

My list goes on and on. I’ve been the angry mum, the shouty mum, the quietly explaining mum, the mum that looks like she fell out of a second-hand shop £1 bin and the one that took about 4 hours to draw her eyebrows on. I honestly don’t believe I am alone in this either.

I don’t want your fucking labels, I just wanna carry on being a sort of reasonable parent, with medium skills and occasionally not fucking up all day long.

2 thoughts on “Can I Just be a Parent Without a Pigeonhole, Please?”

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