You know, I started the week off stressing about disclosure, wondering what my readers think about sponsored posts, wondering how much I still cared about The Best Nest and whether maybe, it was time to call it a day, hang up my boots and let the newbies take over mummy blogging here in New Zealand.
Then, Monday came and so did real life – a *somewhat* welcome breath of fresh air along with a good old fashioned slap in the face. Nix was sick and as the week progressed he got sicker culminating in a visit to Starship and a pneumonia diagnosis. I was so scared. I knew something was wrong with him, but as his bowels had completely slowed I assumed it was a Hirschsprung’s related problem. He had what appeared to be a common cold earlier in the week and though the cold symptoms got better, he only got worse.
As we were dealing with this, my ongoing battle with my eldest son continued, an all-out hormonal, pre-teen hot mess vs his mother. Twice daily fights, one before school, one every night before bed. I’m walking a tightrope with E right now and I have no idea how to get off. We have changed our home wifi code in attempt to get his head out of the ‘cloud’ and back to our family and the weekend has passed relatively smoothly.
The antibiotics have kicked so Nix is on the mend praise jesus.
Something keeps running through my head though. At Dave’s 40th last Saturday night a friend said to me ‘how effortlessly’ I manage to handle whatever comes my way, whatever mountain of of obligations I manage to heap on my plate.
Ha! This about made me spill my wine.
You see, it’s not effortless. I work my ass off. I stress, I cry, I yell, I wake up with my stomach in knots about my workload, about the kids, about being a bad mother, about thinking too much about my work, about the house being in ruins all the time because there simply aren’t enough hours in the day for me to get my ass into gear and clean our shit up.
I wake up wondering every day whether just stopping blogging is an option and is that really what I want? I’ve worked so hard to become a ‘working’ blogger, the kind of hard that it doesn’t take anymore. Imagine building a blog without social? Without Instagram, or Facebook? Back in the days when it actually mattered if you were articulate, if you cared about writing and communicating, if you cared about anything more than being the cool girl in the gang of the coolest girls.
See, I do care. But my number of fucks allocated to caring about influencer anxiety in New Zealand is extremely limited. Plus, never in my life have I had any time for caring about what the cool kids are doing. My attention is needed in so many other places right now, my kids need me, my husband needs me, my mum probably needs to get rid of me, my grandparents need to see more of me while the seeing is good (#jokingnotjoking, they’re getting old yo), my rugby club needs me and my house and garden sure as hell need something – a downpour of RoundUp would be a good start!
I don’t think any of you need me, you probably never did, and you probably don’t need to read about how I had Pizza Hut for dinner on Friday night because I didn’t have it in me to cook dinner. But you know what? I got paid for that picture, and I told you that too (i.e. disclosure). That picture and others like it are going to pay for Ethan’s new, expensive maths tuition that starts on Tuesday.
And that is what I do care about.
What a difference a week makes.
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