The funny thing with blogging is that I write a post with a slight opinion in it and then two weeks later am like lol disagree with everything I spent two hours typing out.
I’m currently in a bit of a weird spot with work.
Typing out blog posts is a mega mission at the moment because in v shocking news that you might all have to sit down for – trying to get 1,000 words written on the regular whilst trying to keep a small baby alive, is near on impossible.
And I am living for Instagram stories at the moment. Living for it. Not only because it’s the easiest content to create when you’ve got to do it in tiny pockets of time, but because I can ramble on about anything – clothes, make-up, food or baby – and you’ve all got my back.
The sense of community on Instagram is insane. It keeps me going on hard days. It reminds me I’m not alone. It gives me advice (of which only some is unsolicited, lol). And it makes me feel like I’m in a crowd of awesome women when actually I’m in my grey trackies slobbed out on the sofa with a baby who’s crying because he’s forgotten how to nap.
But I love writing. It brings me some sort of weird inner peace, just being able to type sentences from the inner workings of my soul.
But a lot of the things I want to write about, to dissect and evaluate, are things about being a mum.
I never wanted this to be a parenting blog, and I stand by that – because shocker – there is more to me, and to most mums, that just the fact that we’re raising tiny humans.
But it is becoming harder and harder to ignore that it is a huge part of me.
And as much as I love clothes and beauty and food and travel, the ideas that come most naturally to me are the ones about my daily life – and right now, that’s helping a three-and-a-half-month baby grow up.
I feel a bit lost, like I’m fighting against nature, and it’s been bringing me down a little in the past few weeks.
I get serious mum guilt for ever craving anything more than quality time with Atti – for wanting those snatched hours at the house to drink coffee and answer emails as though nothing has changes, for wanting to go for cocktails with friends or dinner with my boyfriend.
I feel like he should be enough, and in most ways, he is. But I still need to recognise myself. If that even makes the slightest bit of sense?
I mean who knows what I’m even saying.
I want to be old Hannah with a sprinkling of new Hannah, but instead I’m new Hannah with a sprinkling of old Hannah and it’s freaking me out a little.
I get a lot of messages about how well I seem to be doing and how well I seem to be balancing everything, but I have to admit that the reality is that it’s really fucking hard. It’s a constant battle. And I often wonder if I should just take a deep breath and let go.
Let go of all the expectations I set myself to get out the house and see people and take Instagram photos and continue working and writing, or whether I should fight to hold onto this part of myself that I hold so dear.
Because it took such a fucking long time to like myself, to become proud of who I was and what I was doing, and I’m just not ready to fully loosen my grip on my old life.
I’m not sure if that makes me a bad mum, or an undeserving mum, but it makes me a mum none-the-less.
And then I think of you guys – the people who have stood by me since my blog design looked like something from the BBC news archives, and I don’t want to alienate those of you who literally give no shits about anything to do with babies or pregnancies. You deserve more.
I want to have decent, quality content that is about all the other stuff that’s relevant to a twenty-something, the way I used to.
And so I get left in this place where I’m constantly questioning both my online presence and my real-life presence.
I want to be everyone. Every version of myself. I want to wear the girlfriend hat and the friend hat and the cat mum hat and the likes clothes hat and the goes on holidays hat, as well as the hat with the big neon sign that says MUM MUM MUM.
And it’s made me lost confidence in myself a bit, because I’m not as sure of myself as I once was. I can’t work out my place in the world or how parenting slots in with me, as a person.
And so hello here we are now.
I’m not sure what my point is, but I just wanted to lay all my cards out on the table and say HEY LOOK IT ME.
So yeah, that.
Photos by Chloe Plumstead