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Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
Ireland is due to have a referendum next week to remove a Constitutional ban (the 8th Amendment) on abortion. If the referendum is carried Irish women will be able to have access to abortion in their own country for the first time. This is an issue that directly affects me and my life and my health. There’s been a lot of ‘othering’ going on about the type of woman who has an abortion, so I wanted to counter that by telling my story about the impact the 8th Amendment has had on me, an ordinary Irish woman,  who is just like you.   DID you know that more than half of those accessing a ..read more
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Just like Dad used to make
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
HE was no great shakes in the kitchen, my Dad, but he made a decent cup of tea. Lyons Gold Blend. Strong and thick. A drop of milk. And two and a quarter spoons of sugar. Always in a proper cup and saucer. He never used a mug. It was a porcelain cup, incongruous in his big weather beaten hands, or nothing. When he and Mam would come back from the shops, it was his job to make the tea. He’d put away the heavy stuff first – the potatoes, the cylinder of gas for the Super Ser – while Mam sorted out the bread and the milk and then he’d get on to the real business of the day – the tea. He always w ..read more
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The sweet spot
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
It’s oh so quiet … THERE’S a sweet spot in the middle of my day that makes this staying at home lark easier. It’s only a short period of time, just 45 minutes, maybe an hour but it’s precious and wonderful and grounding and I look forward to it every day. It starts when I pick The Beast up from preschool at noon. We walk home slowly, hand in hand. There’s no rushing, we’ve no where to be. Unlike the rushed walk TO school in the morning there’s time here to stop to examine leaves and sticks, maybe pet the odd stray cat. We get home whenever we get home, sometimes the journey takes ten minutes ..read more
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Up for the March
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
WHEN I was 23 and working in my first job I woke up one morning to realise my period was late. Just by a day, but since they had started ten years earlier I had been as regular as clockwork, every 26 days without fail. I confided in a friend who advised waiting a few days, maybe a week, as periods aren’t set in stone. It will be fine, she comforted, squeezing my hand tightly. I ran through my options in my head wondering what I’d do if it turned out I was pregnant. I wasn’t in a relationship, I had only been dating the guy casually for a short amount of time, I had a job but it was low paid a ..read more
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On Wednesdays we watch (shite) Christmas fillums
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
Lacey, the Queen of Shite Christmas Fillums I LOVE the internet and social media. I like Facebook and Twitter and Instagram – though I’m bewildered by SnapChat and Pinterest – I love blogging and commenting and chatting, the whole shebang. For someone who is at home all day with often only a small boy to talk to, social media has been and is a lifeline for me. A way to connect with other people, other Mams a lot of the time, to bounce ideas off, to ask questions, to have some fun. Sometimes though social media can be too much. The Internet as a whole can be too much – I don’t know lads if it ..read more
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Strangers in the night …
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming I’VE been sitting at the table trying to write this post for the past 30 minutes, only I kept forgetting what it was I wanted to write about. Then I remembered. Baby brain. I wanted to write about baby brain and ask if it can still be a thing four and a half years after having a baby? I know science says it doesn’t exist, but I beg to differ. I’m destroyed with it lads, destroyed. I can barely remember my own name some days and what KILLS me is that I actually used to have a brilliant memory. In a former life I was a journalist for a local paper and par ..read more
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And his name is Wiggly Woo
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
Himself and Meself in happier, less itchy, times WE have worms. I’m sorry. I’m very very sorry. I won’t go into the details because some of you may be reading this while eating but suffice to say they’re not pleasant. Thankfully the treatment is a dose of some truly unpleasant medicine for the whole family – pardon the pun – and washing every bit of laundry in the house, so in that regard it’s not so bad. But did I mention the laundry? Oh Jesus the fucking laundry. It wouldn’t be so bad if the worms hadn’t come on the back of a double dose of Norovirus in the house. Both myself and The Beast ..read more
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The Bike, the Bed, the Fairy and His Soother
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
I REFER to him as The Beast here and I’m sure some of you must be imagining a great hulking Conor McGregor type – but the reality is my little man has always been a small wee chap. Even when he was in the womb he was teeny – at one stage during a scan the sonographer said ‘Stand up, you’ to my husband while making measurements on the screen. Running her practised eye over Yer Man – who in fairness is on the shorter side – she nodded knowingly and laughed when we said we had an idea our baba wouldn’t ever be a supermodel. When he was born he was an average 7lb and a half an ounce. Not small by ..read more
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Losers
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
Obligatory holiday photo YOU know your four-year-old isn’t a baby any more when he turns to you and his grandparents in the middle of dinner and says: ‘Hey, what are you  losers talking about?’ Jesus Kerrrriiiiiisssst! I could have died. In fact, I did. This post is being written from *Derek Acorah voice* beyond the grave. I was so mortified that I just upped and died from morto at the dinner table. Well, I didn’t die, so much as laugh. Because I am a terrible parent and I don’t know what any of you are doing here looking for advice from me because I am the last person who should be giv ..read more
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Seventeen days
Beating Myself Into a Dress
by beatingmyselfintoadress
2y ago
  There are 17 school days left. You know what that means, don’t you? Yes, that’s right. That means only 17 more POXY school lunches to make. Oh God the absolute DRUDGERY of the school lunches. I only have one kid and I don’t work outside the home and still the bloody school lunch sticks in my craw every single day. It’s my nemesis, the Lex Luther to my Superman, the Ares to my Wonder Woman. I had never really paid attention before when parents talked about making school lunches. I’d see features in magazines and newspapers about how to make the perfect school lunch and what to put into ..read more
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