In my 25 years on this planet i have endured 2 whole years of pregnancy in total, three labours, approximately 84 experiences of the dreaded 'curse', 2/3 years of puberty, regular bouts of PMT and hormonal outbursts and have had the whole world see more of my body than I care to imagine. Yet still if push came to shove, (quite literally) I'd choose being female over being male any day of the year, (except perhaps for 5-7 days once a month, but let's not get too specific.)




Of course if Mother Nature employed me as her apprentice I might suggest one or two changes for the female breed . . . maybe abolish one, if not all, of the aforementioned women's issues? At the very least I'd add a few extra perks to being female, (like removing the calories and fat from chocolate perhaps?) but overall I think Mother Nature has already done a pretty amazing job.




Now I'm not going to turn all diva-ish here by chanting, 'Girl Power,' and pouting at every opportunity, and I don't want to alienate the opposite sex by slating them - I'm no man-hater at all, far from it, (I have always listed 'boys' as one of my hobbies,) yet despite my love for and general interest in boys, (which started at a very tender age for me,) it has to be said that in the age-old battle of the sexes, I'm on team 'G' all the way.




Women, are, quite frankly, creatures of utter amazement to me. Not only are we better looking, (in most cases) than our male counterparts, and much, much more mature, we can also handle many a task with greater speed and efficiency than the boys. And we can grow babies. And you can't get better than that. So there.




I do have a great fondness for boys, and i can admire a decent man for more than just the sweetness of eye candy that he may produce, but i think i'll always have more admiration and be more impressed by the powers of a woman.




'Girl Power,' and all that it entails, has long been a statement that I secretly quite like. Not because I'm a huge fan of the platform wearing, badly dressed, irritatingly catchy Spice Girls, (though i cannot deny to being a bit of a closet fan,) but because I truly believe in it. I truly believe that girl power should never be under estimated.




Despite the Spice Girls injecting us with a severe dose of Girl Power back in the day, I don't really believe they can claim to be the inventors of it. Nor do i believe Maggie Thatcher was the one that bore the idea of Girl Power. It started way before all that . . .




Some might say the concept of Girl Power began back in the day by the hippy chick from the 60's, the one with the gravity-defying tits, (which she must have possessed, why else would she insist we all burn our bra's?!) - but I don't believe that either.




In fact, my friends, I can tell you exactly when and where Girl Power was born. I sussed it ages and ages ago. It all started with a girl named Eve, whom successfully seduced a boy named Adam and had her name in the bible for doing so.




And ever since that day those fortunate enough to have been born without the (I imagine rather uncomfortable,) funny bits between the legs, (and they are funny, don't you agree?) have been able to celebrate. So long as they have had the ability to recognised the gift of Girl Power bestowed upon them in the first place.




Plenty of us girlies out there don't realise how lucky we are. We cannot seem to see the extent of the powers we have at our manicured finger-tips. Too many men have tried to make us appear the weaker sex and too many policies have tried to suppress our powers. But let's face it ladies, without us the boys would be screwed, (and not in the way in which they'd like perhaps.)




If you've ever witnessed a woman give birth I'm sure you'd agree, (in fact you only need witness any female species give birth to be amazed. Take our Tinkerbell, for example, she gave life to, not one, but ten gorgeous little kitties all by herself, which is more than the tom-cat who got her up the duff in the first place can say. He didn't even show up to check on his babies, let alone offer to pay any form of kitty support or maintenance.) - It is an amazing feat for any girl to survive, and it so deserves recognition. (Preferably in the form of Shoes and Handbags please folks!)




But I'm not saying that only us Mummies deserve to be celebrated, because wonders of pregnancy and child-birth aside, we girlies do have a lot on our plates, and it certainly isn't easy being a girl.




Sure we have cheaper car insurance, the right to be irrational from time to time, the ability to transform ourselves with Make-Up and beauty products, the wonders of the Wonderbra and the ability to manipulate almost any situation with a simple flutter of the eyelashes and a cheeky smile. Yet there are negatives too that can never be ignored.




There is very little dignity in being female. Just the other day when making an appointment with the nurse in my local surgery I was practically forced by the bitch on the desk to explain the nature of the appointment. Try as I might i couldn't help but blush when I found myself half-whispering the word, 'Contraception,' and thus raising many an eyebrow amongst those sitting close by in the waiting room. Guys don't have to deal with that sort of embarrassment.




Then there's the day when Aunt Flow comes a'calling for the first time in a young girls life, marking the day when she officially begins to transcend from being a little care-free girl with pigtails and an obsession with bikes, to being a woman, with PMT and horrible cramps. It isn't pretty, it isn't fun and yet we have very little say on the matter at all.




Physical changes in a woman's life are one thing, but the mental aspects can be even worse. It might be a nightmare spending time with an unreasonable psycho bitch from hell, but you wanna try being in the mind of one. It's like undergoing a personality transplant with your eyes wide open and there's nothing you can do about it.




We all know the signs, we begin to get agitated by the slightest thing. Something someone says, something someone doesn't say. You could be on your own in paradise and you'd still find something that pisses you off. Irritability begins to bubble until eventually you boil over, erupting like a volcano and spreading red-hot lather upon anyone, or any thing, that might just happen to be within throwing distance. We know we are being unreasonable. We know our actions are out of order, and yet we just cannot contain it. And all the while we have to deal with such hilarious jokes such as, 'That time of the month darlin??' or, 'Cheer up love, might never happen!!' Woe betide a man who makes such comments in my direction, I'd make 'em wish they were never born.




But you know what else? We don't even support one another these days. The secret society of sisterhood is certainly not always readily available, (unless it is so secret that I rarely discover it?!) and instead of uniting in all that is feminine we have an unattractive tendency to bitch about one another. We're all too quick to judge each other as women. On our choices in men, the choices we make as mothers, the decisions we choose surrounding our careers. We point fingers, as though it's gonna make us feel better about the people we are, but it doesn't, instead it just makes us cynical and lonely.




I think if Mother Nature did employ me I'd change all that, but in the meantime I can only control myself and ensure that I don't judge or bitch. Instead I will officially declare myself a 'girls' girl.' and I'd like to urge you to join me.




So here's what we're gonna do. We're going to remain in our bra's (afterall we all look better in them, let's leave the burning to the boys,) we're going to smile at each other, support one another and put the competitions aside. We're gonna strutt with pride, sway our child-bearing hips and shake our booties at the boys and then we're going to remember that no matter what choices we make, what routes we choose to take (oh god this is all rhyming and is beginning to sound like one of those,'new age poems') – with the right pair of heels on and our pals beside us, we really can conquer the world.




By Steph, (whom does not possess a willy but is proud nevertheless.)




x

It's been a little over eight weeks since my little man made his début on the outside world. During this time I've mastered the art of juggling, can multi-task like never before and have learnt many a very valuable lesson, but mostly, over everything else I've learnt, I have come to understand the true meaning of the term, 'Mummy's Boy.'




My goodness that child, though I say it myself, is completely delicious. I could get lost in his enormous baby blues, when he gazes at me, his eyes wide like deep blue pools, I become completely mesmerized. And his head, oh the sweetness of the scent of his little bald head, I wish I could bottle the fragrance and smell it forever.




If I actually owned an apron, it has to be said, I think I would tie my little Leonardo to the strings with great big bows.




And I used to seriously despise Mummy's Boys, honestly I did. (Though perhaps it was the actual Mummies I despised more than their Boys.)




Perfectly good men have been kicked to the kerb, many a mobile phone number erased and several, otherwise promising, matches have been burnt-out on account of all the boys sharing one common trait, f'ing awful Mothers.




To give you an even clearer indication, I once dated a guy who had to be home every evening, without fail, at seven o'clock sharp to share an evening meal with his mother. His mother had a particular thing against girls being in the house, and since I did not actually posses a penis (though had more balls than most men I know,) I of course was never actually welcome to stay and thus had to wait for the duration of the meal, (usually three courses) outside. In his car. Oh yes, his car. He was 21.




Seriously 21 years old and unable to invite a girl in for tea?! Nor to even perch quietly on the couch whilst he ate his tea. Utterly crazy. I guess you know it's time to ditch 'em when they rush a dinner date with you to be home for a second date with the mother.




Now I've always been nice and polite and respectful towards those women whom bore the sons that I took interest in. I always tried to be friendly and I always ensured my skirts were never too short nor my heels too high upon meeting the parents, yet it was a rare occasion when my manners were returned by the Mums, (though Dad's have always seemed quite pleasant.) And typically those fortunate enough to not have dragons as mums were usually the ones I wasn't all that bothered about in the first place.




I suppose if I were to really analysis things it was the single Mums, the Mums who had single-handedly taken care of their little boys, who were always the most unpleasant. And I totally get it, they'd invested time and love and effort into the life of their strapping sons and were so frightened of being left along when, or if, that son flies the nest. I can understand that, of course, yet the upset I felt by being snubbed by this breed was enough to make me vow that if I ever had a little boy myself, I would be different, no matter what my circumstances.




My Nanny Brenda says, 'A daughter is a daughter all her life, a son is a son 'til he finds a wife.' Now I don't know if that's true, but is enough to make me want to lock my little Leo up in his bedroom for years and years, away from the temptations and troubles of girls like me. Unreasonable, yes. Stupid, yes, but true nevertheless. Alas I know from my own experience that to breed and raise yet another Mummy's Boy is unnecessary and frankly cruel to any would-be suitors out there.




Fortunately my own Mother-In-Law has managed to do a pretty perfect job of raising her offspring to ensure he has the perfect balance of Mummy's Boy Syndrome in him. He loves his mother, adores her in fact, he respects her and can get her to do all his ironing with just a little wink and a smile, (pretty much the way he gets me to do most things too lol) and yet he does not share a freakishly unhealthy or abnormal relationship with her at all. I definitely think I could take a leaf out of my mother-in-laws book, and I'm not even saying that just for the brownie points either. :-)




It is my intention to raise my little boy to be a happy, healthy, kind and caring young man, with all the qualities of a gentleman, the courage of his namesake - the lion, and of course the strength of an ox. I know, I'm striving for absolute perfection, but I do like to aim high :-)




I have come to realise, within these past few weeks, that the methods of which I use to raise my little Lady however differ from those I use with her baby bro.




Not that I treat my children unequally or love them differently or anything, I am absolutely head over heels for both of them, it's just that I've discovered that raising a little boy and raising a little girl are two completely different tasks.




I can't quite put my finger on the actual differences between the methods I use though, it's odd. I suppose it stems from my wanting different things for them perhaps? Different aspirations and different ideas of the kind of people that my two little cherubs might grow to be. Of course nobody knows what the future holds for either of them, all I can really do is prepare them for the paths I imagine they may take.




And let's face it, certain qualities are more beneficial for certain sexes. I don't mean for this to sound old-fashioned or chauvinistic or anything. It's not like I'm going to teach Lori how to sew and bake and powder her nose and all that and then teach Leo to make paper aeroplanes, play keepy-uppy and construct a number of weird and wonderful things from wood, (haha, can you imagine?!) - It's just that I believe there are separate foundations for each gender that need to be laid down before the building can commence. (I realise I make reference to building and stuff quite a lot lately, blame my mother for getting me hooked on, 'The Home Show,' and then blame the gorgeous softly-spoken George for being way too irresistible to switch off! Lol – Sorry Jay.)




I'm not going to stereotype my kids according to their sexes, despite my own personal preference for men to be men, (rugged and tough) and women to be women, (flirtatious and feminine) I won't be upset if Lori becomes a mechanic and Leo comes home wearing make-up (though Daddy might have a thing or two to say I'm sure! Lol) just so long as they are happy, I'm happy.




And on the off chance that this blog still exists in, ooh i don't know, 20 years or so, I'd like to make the following declaration to those who may have the pleasure of falling for my children, they way i have done . . .

I, Stephanie Connolly, hereby promise to never wind up being an absolute dragon of a mother-in-law, (just so long as you take care of my babies :-) )




x