Bonkers

OLIVIA SIEGL is the proud owner of two tiny humans and creator of popular parenting blog, The Baby Bible; a funny, honest and straight talking blog covering everything from post-baby vaginas to Postnatal Depression, uniting mums worldwide to be able to talk about ALL areas of motherhood – NO judgement!

After suffering with severe Postnatal Depression and Postpartum Psychosis following the birth of her two daughters, Olivia set up The Every Mum Movement, a global movement that empowers mums to take care of their maternal mental health and speak more openly and honestly about motherhood. The movement has gone from strength to strength, gaining support from the NHS HEE, NCT, Netmums and high profile celebrity parents, as well as invitations to speak at the Department of Health and the Houses of Parliament. Olivia also speaks at events and in the media on her experiences of maternal mental health to help raise awareness.

She loves writing and is a regular contributor to The Huffington Post, The Metro and leading parenting sites.

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Olivia Siegl 2018

Olivia Siegl asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008214869

For my amazing little girls, Éva Loren and Isla-Mai, and my

awesome husband, Jamie, for always believing I could do this. And

to every Mum who has ever doubted themselves – this is for you

Me, Jamie and our awesome tiny humans

KEEP IN TOUCH

One of the best parts about writing my blog has been hearing from

other mums and sharing our tales of motherhood. I would love to

hear from you.

Share and tag your photos of BONKERS: A Real Mum’s HilariouslyHonest Tales of Motherhood, Mayhem & Mental Health using the #BONKERS hashtag

Visit The Baby Bible Blog www.the-baby-bible.com Facebook.com/theoliviasiegl Instagram.com/oliviasiegl Twitter.com/oliviasiegl Join the secret Facebook Group hello@everymummovement.com

Join The Every Mum Movement www.everymummovement.com Facebook.com/everymummovement Instagram.com/everymummovement Twitter.com/theeverymum

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction A Quick HELLO (as I know you’re busy keeping your tiny human alive)

Foreword A Tiny Word from my Tiny Humans

Chapter 1 Bulls***

Chapter 2 It’s Time to Go Back… Waaay Back

Chapter 3 Pregnant and Blooming – (aka Blooming Demonic, Starving and Willing to Kill for a Cheese Burger and a Full-Fat Coke)

Chapter 4 Childbirth, aka Trying to Push a Tiny Human Out of your Vagina

Chapter 5 Becoming Mum – The Early Days

Chapter 6 The Every Mum Guide to Postnatal Depression

Chapter 7 Popping your Motherhood Cherry

Chapter 8 After the After (Birth) Party – Celebrating Our Post-Baby Vaginas

Chapter 9 Going from One to Two

Chapter 10 In Charge of Two Tiny Humans

Chapter 11 Postpartum Psychosis – The Danger of the Unknown

Chapter 12 Feeding Your Tiny Human

Chapter 13 The Every Mum Guide to Weaning

Chapter 14 Snapping Back into You, Post-Baby

Chapter 15 Post-Baby Body

Chapter 16 The Every Mum Guide to Being a Dad

Chapter 17 What Does Motherhood Mean to Me?

Endnote Au Revoir For Now

Acknowledgements

Useful resources

Glossary

INTRODUCTION

A QUICK HELLO (AS I KNOW YOU’RE BUSY KEEPING YOUR TINY HUMAN ALIVE)

Dear Every Mum,

No matter how you give birth; no matter how you feed your tiny human; no matter if you are a co-sleeper, a breast-feeder, a baby sling wearer, a baby-led weaner, a home-grown organic mum, a home-opened fish finger mum, a gentle parenting mum, a ‘Get your shoes on RIGHT NOW before I turn into the Hulk’ mum, a stay-at-home mum, a back-to-work mum, an ‘I’m not getting dressed today’ mum, a mum struggling with her mental health, a mum feeling judged, or a mum feeling on top of the world …

NO. MATTER. WHAT. You, my gorgeous and magnificent new friend, deserve the right to enjoy motherhood.

FOREWORD

A TINY WORD FROM MY TINY HUMANS

A little like trying to get through a HOT drink of anything nowadays, I similarly, couldn’t get through the intro of this book, without my tiny humans sharing their thoughts on it all. Over to you girls …

MUMMY’S STARTING A REVOLUTION

Our mummy doesn’t like it when people say unkind things about other mums. She says this is being judgmental and that no mummy deserves that.

Our mummy thinks it’s very important to tell the truth, no matter how hard it may be. She believes that not telling fibs about what being a mummy is really like will make other mummies feel better about themselves and not like they are the only one going through it.

Mummy is not scared about telling the truth.

She was once, though. When she first became a mum, our mummy thought she wasn’t doing a good enough job, that everyone else was doing better at it than her, but she was too scared to talk about it. She felt alone and not very brave. She was scared to tell the truth that sometimes being a mummy is hard and that it sometimes made her think unkind things about herself.

Our mummy soon learnt that telling the truth about her experiences of being a mummy, even the more difficult parts about her mind getting poorly, helped other mummies share their experiences. And that made her and other mummies feel less alone and more brave.

Our mummy really cares about this book and the people who read it. She doesn’t want to sound corny or like something she calls a ‘prom queen’, but she really wants to make a difference with what she has written and help bring together other mummies who also believe in being kind to other mums.

Our mummy wants to create a big group of these mums all showing support rather than judgement to each other, even if these mums do things differently.

So Mummy has made a decision.

Mummy’s starting a revolution.

The Every Mum Revolution, supporting EVERY mum – NO judgement!

She would love you to join her.

Love Éva-Loren & Isla-Mai

CHAPTER 1

BULLS***

OK, so have I got your attention?

I hope so, because I have a feeling in my knackered, mummy bones (without being too presumptuous, as we have only just met) that we are going to be great friends. You know the kind. The kind who, after just five minutes and five swigs of fizzy wine, are sharing life stories, birth trauma, sex-gone-wrong tales and the fact our bikini lines are less Brazilian, more Gorillas in the Mist since pushing a tiny human out. Yes, THAT type of friendship; the type we all dream about and seldom have the pleasure or fortune to have in our new mum-shaped lives.

You and me, I want us to be that type of friend – and like any good, no, GREAT friendship, we need to agree that the things we share between these pages (and what happened between our legs) is, of course, just between us.

Deal?

Can I take it from you silently nodding your head that means you are in?

BRILLIANT!

So, now you’ve managed to stash your tiny human somewhere to get a few minutes peace to read this book, let me introduce myself properly.

My name is Liv. I am the often bedraggled, occasionally ferocious protector of two tiny humans. I am also a writer. The writer bit came second as, before motherhood, I was a closet writer. Which meant, I didn’t have the literary balls to show my work to anyone. However, once I’d shown my vagina to a bunch of strangers (thanks to the beauty of childbirth, not me being a porn star), showing something I’d written to the world was no longer as terrifying as my brain first had me believe (who’d a thunk it?!). Motherhood, for this (and for other unforgettable gifts such as permanent piles, sleepless nights, an uncontrollable bladder, oh, and my two beautiful tiny humans) I thank you.

So, what else can I tell you?

Oh yes, I’m knackered and a little bit mental. Officially, I am the first (knackered) all of the time and have been the second (mental) some of the time. Just to clarify, when I say ‘mental’ I don’t mean the cool London-meets-LA speak ‘mental’. You know the ‘Yeah, my life is SO fooking MENTAL since having kids, I’m like, SO CRAZY’. No. I actually mean, full on, officially diagnosed by a doctor, mental. All thanks to a visit from those two petrifying and incredibly nasty friends, postnatal depression and postpartum psychosis. But more of this delightfully messed-up tale later. (If you are a lover of horror stories and can’t bear the suspense, then feel free to skip the next bit and dive straight into the darkness on page 95).

So, what can I tell you about me on the mum front?

Well for one, I insanely bloody LOVE my tiny humans (two beautiful little girls bursting with character, kindness, snot and glorious sloppy kisses in equal measure) with an unashamed, unbashful and unrelenting ferociousness like no other I’ve known. It is fair to say that I would singlehandedly slay any fool who gets in my way of loving, providing and protecting them. (I know I sound scary; in real life I actually hate confrontation – honest.) Now, don’t get me wrong: like any other good mum out there, I’m not too proud – no, scrap that, I AM proud enough to admit that they also drive me bat-shit-like-a-box-of-frogs-on-speed BONKERS. I love the chaos (most days). I love and hate equally the edges of despair and the precipices of near disasters that I’m teetering on the edge of on an hourly basis thanks to motherhood. And whether or not I have my head together to deal with these days, usually depends on the amount of sleep I haven’t had, the number of cataclysmic tantrums I’ve diffused pre 8 a.m., and if I’ve ran out of my dry shampoo (which, I’ve come to realise, is my only real ally when the Don’t kid yourself that you can leave the house looking like that crap hits the fan).

Now, I know that you’re also busy keeping your part of the human race alive (great job, by the way). So, before we get to crack open the fizzy wine and dive into my knackered mummy soul and the rest of this book, I need to first let you in on a little something. After all, any woman worth her salt knows that the only way to cement a great friendship is with a dirty great confession (or two).

So, here goes:

I haven’t got a clue what I am doing.

Not one.

SERIOUSLY.

Yes, I am a mother of two tiny humans. And yes, most days I am scared out of my tiny mind that I am making the mother of all messups and that I will ruin their lives forever. And, if I’m really honest, I do not have a scooby doo how I veer from one day to the next, with both my tiny humans still happy (ish), still healthy (ish) and still alive (def more than ish).

Fact.

Wow, it feels better to get that off my chest – thanks!

Since becoming a mum, I’ve found that telling the truth, no matter how ugly, disgusting or ridiculous a light it paints you in, makes you feel better. And it makes every other mum feel so much better too. Which got me asking: Why on earth do we all seem so hell bent on hiding this truth when it comes to our own experiences of motherhood?

This leads me nicely to my next confession (I’m on a roll here and I’ve got a feeling due to the fact you are still with me and haven’t put me down to go buy a Kit-Kat or put a wash on that our Every Mum friendship is well on its way to being cemented good and proper). If not the next bit should do the trick…

So here goes, confession No 2:

I don’t always enjoy motherhood.

I know. SHOCK HORROR! Right?

I can hear the perfect parenting vigilantes running down the road shouting ‘Burn the witch!’ right now.

However, isn’t this what we all need to hear? Doesn’t every mum need to hear the honest truth that motherhood, like everything we turn our hand to in life and similar to everything we experience (even the most magical) isn’t always enjoyable all of the time? And that it is totally OK to feel this way. In fact, totally normal and it doesn’t mean you’re a witch or a terrible mum.

Yes. I know. Big, HUGE confession to make so early in our friendship. Bear with me and I’ll tell all.

You see, pre-motherhood I had this image of the mum I was going to be and the sort of motherhood I was going to have. It was the type of motherhood I’d read about in all the magazines and on all the blogs and had seen in films. In my Perfect Mummy mind’s eye, I was happy, confident and in total control of this ship called Mother. Breezing through my new mum life, creating a perfect home, running a successful new baby business (because that’s what all new mums do right?), clad in white linen with a smiley and easy-going baby attached effortlessly to my hip and me enjoying every second of it.

But then, something happened. I pushed a tiny human out of my vagina, and ever since I’ve noticed a distinct smell of something quite different in the air.

Do you smell it too?

Since becoming a mum do you also feel surrounded by a distinct smell of shit? I do. And, the smell, my lovely new friend, is not coming from my tiny human’s nappy or the Poo Pants of Shame I stuffed in my nappy bag three weeks postpartum after accidentally pooing myself in the middle of Mothercare. (Cheers, Mother Nature, for the heads-up that childbirth runs amok with more than just your bladder).

Oh no, that smell burning in my nostrils following the birth of my first tiny human, was the distinct smell of judgmental bullshit being flung at me and other mums from every direction and sucking the joy out of my experience of motherhood. From how I was handling my pregnancy to how I gave birth. Was I bottle-feeding or breast-feeding? Was I a baby wearer? A co-sleeper? A gentle parent? A dummy lover? A baby-lead weaner? To just when exactly was my tiny human planning to crawl, walk, talk, start applying for MENSA!

And you know what? It made me sad. It made me angry. It made me want to do something!

This book in your hands is me Doing Something.

It is me making a stand for every mum out there and saying enough, is enough. Stop with all the perfect parenting propaganda. Stop with all the pressure to be the perfect mum. Stop with all the judgement thrown at mums trying to make the best decisions for themselves and their families. Just please STOP with all the perfect parenting nonsense. Please!

Instead, this book is about bathing in the beauty of own our truth. It is about us being brave. It is about owning our own crazy, beautiful, challenging, dirty, hilarious, disgusting and honest mum reality. It is us telling the world that we are mums who sometimes get it right. We are mums who sometimes make mistakes. We are mums who sometimes have our life together. We are mums who sometimes want to run away from our responsibilities like we are running from a burning building. We are mums who sometimes suffer with our mental health. We are mums who sometimes look hot and we are mums who sometimes just look like we have peeled ourselves off the local park bench after being run over by a herd of snot-wielding tiny humans. However, this is us. This is who we are. No smoke and mirrors, no airbrushing.

For every mum out there feeling lost in the wilderness of motherhood. For every mum out there feeling pressure to be the perfect mum. For every mum out there questioning why their life does not look like the parenting described in the media. For every mum suffering with their mental health. For every mum feeling like they are alone. For every mum questioning if they are a good enough mum. For every mum feeling judged. This book is for you!

I want to show every mum that you are good enough. That you are doing a good job. That regardless of whatever is going on with you right this second that you are one hell of a mum and a woman. You are magnificent. Yes, just as you are. No matter how long it’s been since you last washed your hair. No matter how short your temper is because you haven’t had more than two hours of goddam sleep. No matter how imperfect and inadequate you feel when measured up against your pre-baby vision of how life as a mum should be. Just you hold on to this fact: you are already the perfect mum for your glorious, milk-scented, chubby-legged tiny human and regardless of what motherhood throws at you:

You BLOODY ROCK!

Welcome, my friend, to the every mum revolution.

Hold on to your stitches and nappy bags; it’s going to be one hell of a ride!

CHAPTER 2

IT’S TIME TO GO BACK … WAAAY BACK

So, seeing as you are still with me and haven’t been put off by my Poo Pants of Shame confession, I think it’s safe to say we are now buddies, amigos, mates, gal pals and fellow Every Mum allies. Therefore, there’s only one thing for it. It’s time for a Craig David ‘Re-Rewind’ moment to cement some fellow mum history between these sheets and find out how this mum came to think she was capable of taking care of a tiny human, let alone writing a book about it.

SHE’LL BE COMING ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COMES

Being pregnant, living up a mountain in a foreign country miles away from my family and the things I cared about most in this world (namely my mum and Boots the Chemist) was not something I ever imagined when I used to flirt with the rose-tinted idea of becoming a mum in my mid-twenties.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t as treacherous or as exotic as it may first appear. The mountain was in France, not the Himalayas. It’s not as though we were living in a mountainside shack, miles away from civilisation – even though sometimes, when everything in the village shut down between the hours of 12 noon and 2 p.m. and I couldn’t go to the supermarket twenty-four hours a day it could feel like it. (Wow! Talk about First World problems!) No, it was France and the Alps – a ski resort called Morzine, to be exact. It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever lived and had fresh running water and an amazing health care system (albeit a ride down the mountain – the hospital not the running water).

So how the hell did I end up here I can hear you asking?

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we, and meet the pre-baby me. Let’s take a good, long look at her so we can see how far the free as a bird mighty have fallen. Hang on a second, I think I can hear her shiny Geneva heels clicking down the shiny Geneva pavement now, clicking and swooshing her way to a swanky client meeting in a swanky Swiss building. (I know, I almost can’t believe this me actually existed either!)

So, I know what you’re thinking, how the hell did the now disheveled and slightly unhinged me find herself once upon a time clicking down a shiny Swiss high street in shiny Swiss heels?

Well, it went a little something like this. My hubby, Jamie, had lived in France since a teenager and after I went on a ski holiday in his French hometown of Morzine, we were properly Cilla Blacked and hooked up by mutual friends. We were smitten from the word go – or should I say smitten from the first of many drunken snogs as we tried (and failed) to ski home from an end-of-season party on the slopes. The holiday and the snogging ended and I returned back to my life and career in marketing back in the UK. (Yes, I once was a functioning member of society who had a pretty successful career under her belt.) However, six months of long-distance dating later, I’d packed up my career, said goodbye to my City Girl bachelorette pad, hung up my heels and moved to the mountains to be with the boy of my dreams. Bang! No messing! In for a penny, in for a pound – or, as it transpired, a wedding and two tiny humans!

Our life together in France was pretty damn sweet. It was one of doing whatever the hell we wanted, snowboarding, skiing, hanging out with friends, boozy picnics by the lake, and road trips to Italy for lunch that turned into a weekend away. We were carving out a life together that was universes away from my daily commute, 9–5 city life back in the UK. (I could poke my old self bang in the eye right about now: I had NO bloody clue how good I’d got it!)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am a city girl at heart; I love the dirt, the noise and the bristling energy on which a city thrives. However, this new life in the Alpine mountains, was one of adventure, great food, freedom and possibility, all shared with the love of my life. The downside was that I really missed my family. We are a really close bunch – like EastEnders close – which drives me bonkers at times when it becomes more dramatic than an EastEnders storyline – but I wouldn’t be without them. And as they were only a short plane ride away; I went back regularly and they came out to see us when they could.

After a year and a half together (living together and working together on his online ski holiday business), Jamie dragged me out on a snowy walk, bent down on one knee in waist-deep snow and proposed to me in front of our favourite waterfall. (Yes, this place I now found myself living in was so ridiculous we actually had enough choice of waterfalls to class one as our favourite!) A year later, we were married in a beautiful château in front of all our most favourite people, followed by the mother of all parties that rocked le château well into the early hours.