There's a Pirate in our house!

First Easter Holiday activity for M and I was a cinema outing with some of her mini-pals to see "Pirates, An Adventure with Scientists". M is almost 3 years old and has been to the cinema quite a few times, she really enjoys it and it is always a great "rainy" day activity for us. Possibly the popcorn is the most alluring factor for her at the moment, but she does sit and often laughs out loud at the film (she gets that from me) and on occasion has been known to dance in the aisles (me again I'm afraid). Whilst waiting for the Muppets Movie the new Pirates film was advertised and I never heard the end of it until I was able to confirm the play date to her.

From the makers of Wallace & Gromit and with Hugh Grant voicing the main man Pirate Captain, I can't deny that I was looking forward to seeing this too. And it didn't disappoint! Overall a clever, amusing and highly entertaining film. One of those gems that give enough children's comic to keep them sitting still and a healthy dollop of thinly-veiled adult content to keep the parents amused. I did laugh out loud. A lot. Possibly the only one at times, but nothing new there.

One of my favourite things about this film was one of the characters, Cutlass Liz. She was one of the rival Pirate Captain's and sashayed her way onto the screen all buxom bosoms and very-rounded hips. Voiced by Salma Hayek, Kitty Softpaws of recent Puss in Boots fame, Cutlass Liz was a proper badass. When presenting her Pirate Loot, she handed over a massive diamond, I think the irony of this was completely lost on the Toddler, but only further illustrated that this woman was proper "doing it for herself"! Sista.

I thought Cutlass Liz was pretty cool when she swung into the movie (really those hips do nothing more than swing!) but was impressed when M turned to me and said "she looks like me mommy!". Now the Toddler is all blue eyes, curly blonde hair, long legs and "toddler shaped", so actually nothing of the Barbados-origin, big-breasted, hip swinging type that Cutlass Liz represented. Plus she doesn't drink rum or spit through her teeth. But, I couldn't help but admire her thought process. My little one was obviously as appreciative of this character as I was, and really I was impressed with her body image.

Now if I can bottle some of that positive body image and hang onto the good bits, wielding out the crop tops, shirt tied under the breasts, rum drinking and spitting I think we're onto a winner for a sound 14-year old... or maybe she just really wants to be a Girl Pirate!?

Without "obvious" pain, can I still comment?

Yesterday Twitter alerted me to a feature in the Guardian that really caught my attention. It was written by a writer I really admire (not in a stalker-type-admire-way I haste to add), Bibi Lynch, and came with a warning that mother's may well be offended. I was quite nervous before reading the piece as a)I am a mother and b) I really enjoy reading Ms Lynch's work (not a stalker I assure you) and didn't want her to offend me.

Safe to say, I was not offended in the slightest! Hooray, I can carry on being a non-stalker-type fan and go about my business for the day. Except I couldn't, because I felt great pain on behalf of Ms Lynch and the feature, as well as the subsequent backlash, has haunted me all weekend. This leads me to here, my blog.

I have been waiting for a chance to write a response to the feature since yesterday morning. Having now got my chance I started doing some research on the feedback regarding the article. Holy cr*p people, cut the woman some slack, she can't have children! Imagine that? Can you, as a Mother, imagine that? I can't. Also, to the women reviewers who don't have children, cut the mother's some slack! We all moan, moaning is a very personal thing and we can only do it with what we know best. Ourselves. And our lot in life.

Plenty of people have taken to the 'net to provide sympathy, give moral support, express outrage and hurl abuse towards Lynch and the feature. Having trolled through a large chunk of them, I started to wonder what I could contribute? I have a child, so will never truly know the depths of her pain. I have a standard issue child*, so cannot fully know the pains of raising one with difficulties or any other defects. Plus, I didn't suffer from anything other than a scratch across the belly, sore breasts and severe tiredness after giving birth, so am out of that camp too.

So, what am I doing here then and why was I not offended? I am possibly a prime candidate to be offended:- we have a mom and dad in our family. A loud, yet adorable toddler. Dad works. Mom stays at home with said toddler. We do "family stuff", I do non-mom fun stuff, we go on family holidays and sometimes dad cooks. Bonus. I wasn't offended because the article calls for us mom's to count our blessings. And I do. Every night and throughout the day, particularly for my little girl and my family. Also, whilst reading the piece, I didn't see it as being about me for one minute. I didn't feel the need to defend my grumblings as all I could see was the pain at not being able to have children.

As to what I am doing here, commenting on the feature, I wanted to say this: firstly, the feature was published in a newspaper. Newspapers need readers and internet hits. Headlines sell papers and draw traffic to a website. It needs to be hard hitting and get a response - good or bad. Secondly, the feature was a very honest, emotional and personal piece based on one aspect of one woman's journey. Read between the lines, this lady is in pain. Following Ms Lynch on Twitter and reading any of her work from her Grazia columns, you will quickly see that she doesn't throw things at mothers in the street, she doesn't avoid children in public places and in fact knows people with children!

Lastly, she is a writer. A review of her work is one thing, a point of view from either side is another thing, but abuse is a whole other game and really, no one should be playing on that team.

*although my baby girl is standard issue, I obviously think she is perfect and the best in every possible way! Being her mother and all.

A Shopping Revolt.

Feeling Spring in the air and willing to spend the last of the month's budget on myself rather than food I head for the shops whilst M is at play school. I only have two hours, 'tis a marathon shopping session. I visit six different outlets intent on spoiling myself and return, with my handbag between my legs, wielding one item. A t-shirt. For my daughter. Granted it is pretty cute (River Island new girls range from age 3 years), none the less, it won't fit me and is yet another item of clothing for the toddler.

I tried, I really did - six shops in two hours including some changing rooms sessions and a few shoes here and there, is no small feat. So, why just one measly t-shirt then?

To set the scene, here'e roughly what I look like: I am 5'10. Granted taller than average, but my no means a 6-footer. I do not have swishy hair, I do have sizeable hips, my thighs rub together, my breasts hang by my knees when unsupported, my waist is kind of there but right underneath it is a belly reminiscent of being pregnant and enjoying that fish supper a little too much, my arms wave alongside with my hands and I pack a serious amount of junk in my trunk. Don't misunderstand, I am not down on this, I have body dysmorphia in reverse and like to channel Marilyn Monroe when looking in the mirror. My chant goes a little bit like this: "Loving your work girlfriend, looking pretty fine out there, work it, work it..." (yes, I refer to myself as "girlfriend" when looking in the mirror and apparently the voice in my head sounds like a 18-year Gok Wan). In short, a few inches taller than average, but generally just a normal woman, looking for normal clothes...

Firstly, two of my favourite go-to-shops for the tall range no longer stock them. Only available online. Apparently I am just on the wrong side of normal in the leg department and am not worthy of trying things on in-store. However, the petite department is alive and kicking. Complete with inspirational slogan "petite: the perfect proportion". Really?! I would wager a pair of shoes that a lot of petite women bemoan their fate as much as everyone else.

Secondly, jeans. Mostly available in skinny, super-skinny and jeggings. Or bootcut, that sit on your hips and push up your belly rendering even your spanx useless. Or chinos, that have that bulky gathered bit at the front that makes me think I should have a penis to really do them justice. And mostly available in pastel colours, the type that show up all your bumps and grinds, the very ones that make you run for the "in black only please" department.

Then the tops, tunics?! Not being pregnant anymore there is really nothing more to say on this subject. I wore them to death and cannot face them again. As for the "long at the back short at the front" variety of jumper, cutting a straight line right across my thighs is never going to do it for Marilyn. Floaty chiffon types? I am not in a movie singing my way across a field of flowers and don't want to dress like I am either. Pastel colours? Makes me look unwell. An array of stripes in all directions? Makes me look like a barbers pole. Little animals all over? Makes me look like a zoo-keeper. I don't want Rihanna on my t-shirt and I don't want to tie my shirt under my boobs either.

I am doomed. Forever destined to single, bold colours, basic tee's and hanging on to my last two pairs of jeans till the bitter, ripped end.

This leave bags, shoes and scarves... oh, and the children's department!