More Confessions of a Tired Mother

It is time to come clean.

After two babies and three years of severe sleep deprivation I have done a few things I am less than proud of.

I am not a bad person. But when you are so tired you can barely remember your own name – it is a matter of survival.

You can read my embarrassing confessions by clicking over to Metro UK. imagesPlease don’t judge me too harshly!

Have you got any parenting confessions? I would love to hear them. Join me for a chat on Facebook or Twitter or comment below!

BiB2015x350cPS: If you are just thinking ‘I could really do with filling a form out right now’ then feel free to click here and vote for me by means of my URL – –  in whatever categories you think at the Britmums BIB Blog Awards. I definitely won’t win but it would be nice not to come last! Don’t do it for me…do it for my children.. THANK YOU!!


11 thoughts on “More Confessions of a Tired Mother

  1. Love this list, I’ve def done many of these. I remember dropping baked beans on my son’s face while breastfeeding, have slept in baby sick on several occasions and regularly fantasize about smothering my husband with a pillow!

  2. Nail. On. Head. Our television often “breaks,” as do the loud toys. I feel like that’s the only way to stay sane and not get as many meltdowns as you would if you just said No! There’s a lot of eye rolling in our house, too. And of course, the pocket finger.

    • Kids tv is always breaking down in our house.. I suspect my toddler is planning a stern letter to the BBC when she learns to write! :
      Oh got to love the pocket finger!!

  3. So many of these ring true. Mouthing “FFS” and childishly flicking the Vs behind toddler’s back happening a bit too often, mainly since the arrival of #2. I *might* have also stretched the truth a tad once or twice about how little baby has napped in order to explain away the piles of unwashed dishes and toy-bombed living room…

  4. Ha! Great list. I never wash my bra these days, I’m so grim. I also let my son play with / do anything to get a minute of peace, I’m teaching him such awful habits. Oh, and lately I really can’t help but call him an arsehole under my breath when he is being stroppy and unreasonable. I do it so often, it’s almost become a term of endearment.

    I feel both better and worse for admitting all that!

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