The Worlds Worst Mum: & How to Survive

By Kirk Donna and Treadaway E

#worldsworstmum – you know you are doing it all wrong, but you do it anyway!

I wrote this series of stories to highlight something we women do too often. We judge, convict and have thrown the key away on ourselves daily!  In the age of Social Media, we are expected to be either perfect or complete trash!  Personally I&rsquo

• Language: English
• Publisher: D R Slater
• Release date: May 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781521210475

Kirk Donna

Donna Kirk is an entrepreneur, marketer, author and busy wife and frankly in her eyes the #WorldsWorstMum. The birth of her eldest son changed her life - having been a career focussed senior sales & marketing professional she quickly discovered that the needs of her son would require a change in her career if she was to devote the time needed for his care. Born with Cystic Fibrosis meant the early years of his life were spent walking through the revolving doors of hospitals and learning an entire new language and process and relying on health professionals to keep her son alive. The journey through relationships, the enormous pressure to have a second child who potentially could be born with the same life threatening condition, through divorce, a move to a new country and more has been documented. Donna's first book is a light hearted view - the second book due for release in late 2017 a more substantial look at the challenges of raising a child who is effectively deteriorating in front of her. A passionate, determined woman who continues to inspire and be inspired by the world around her Donna offers a unique perspective on motherhood. 15years on from those early days - we still manage those hospital doors - albeit less often and with a little more fun and enjoyment and for those 15 years I have been providing marketing consultancy and project management to a variety of business in Australia and New Zealand.

Book preview

Heating a bottle is just like cooking an egg - right?

My then one month old son was waking for his bottle. So I threw on a T-shirt that provided no decency at all with me arse hanging out, but at least the huge boobs were provided with something to stop them from slapping me in the face. Eyes-closed I made my way down to the kitchen fumbling for his bottle. I’m at least a little organised and have 3 bottles in the fridge ready for warming. 

Microwave warming is fast – yep, takes a few sessions to understand the best time for the best temperature – that splashing on the inside of your wrist in the wee hours of the night will wake any mum up if you’ve got it wrong – I still bear the scars of boiling milk! Too hot – then you chuck it in the freezer and pop for a pee-  hoping that its chilled enough by the time you have finished – one of the few tinkles in peace.

Darn it not quite – so I waited standing bare foot on the cold floor boards staring out thoughtlessly - literally – no thoughts at all -  blank as it can get.  Limited brain activity, in fact just enough to keep my lungs functioning and my spine stiff enough to hold me upright. That shrill beep of the microwave would have broken my thoughts had I had any, instead it startled me into mum-mode again.

Testing again, it was passable – it didn’t blister and I couldn’t feel it so I figured it was fine.

Now being a mum has its upsides – those quiet alone moments with your newborn as they suckle away making these gorgeous slurping sounds feeling safe in the belief that they love you completely… of course in my case his eyes were wide open with a look of incredulity – which is tough for a one month old!

Reason – my bad mum moment - having returned to the room, warmed bottle in one hand and teaspoon in the other, I had tried encouraging him to open his mouth to feed him apple puree and enzymes!

I had completely forgotten which baby I was feeding, and had, for a few minutes, gone back seven years to my eldests’ nightly feeds of - enzymes pushed into apple puree before his bottle.  Trying to ensure I washed his mouth out completely with the milk to ensure the enzymes didn’t burn the inside of his mouth. It had become an automated process of going to the kitchen in the dark, grabbing the pill separator that then husband had designed (probably one of his better points).  I would empty half a capsule of these bead like enzymes. Imagine millions of beads as small as granules of sugar disappearing all over the floor having none too gently pulled apart a gelatine capsule. Not so easy to pick up and forever getting stuck to your feet.

Anyway, having done it for so long, it was just something I did – like shaking the bottle before testing it. Like dipping a dry toothbrush under the tap before putting toothpaste on it – like checking facebook when you first open your eyes of the morning – its automatic, routine and just something you do. Not so good when it involves medicating your children however!

So back to the quiet of the bedroom , warmed bottle in hand, eyes still slightly closed hoping to stay awake just enough to feed him and closed enough to drop right back to sleep after the feeding was done.

Scooping him up, I deposit myself in the chair with him settling on my lap – you could be forgiven for thinking I would be relishing in the mother-son bonding moment – but no, I was already nodding off – his dutiful wailing to be fed dragged me out of my sleep deprived haze.

So, reaching over, I grabbed the teaspoon being ever so careful not to spill those dreaded enzymes, and then simply froze with my hand midway to his mouth – that daft 1am look on my face of what am I doing, something is wrong with this picture that thankfully, only my son could see-  I stopped just in time, realising before my mistake.

I was about to feed my Non-CF child enzymes as I had for my eldest all those years ago!  Blimin’ heck – you’d think with a seven year gap between them I would have realised which child I was feeding - but I guess with a bit of sleep deprivation, the answer was nup - no damn idea which kid I had in my arms!

Dropping the spoon right there on the carpet, I managed to grab the bottle and get that in his mouth before I made any more mistakes. 

As he slurped away, none the wiser (I hope), I could feel my heart racing at doing something so simply stupid. I mean really – feeding the wrong kid medicine at that age!

Thankfully he survived as did I – simply to go on and make so many more bad mum moments!!

Poo-gate.

I work from home, and have done since our eldest was little - made it easier to manage the revolving hospital doors. Our youngest was hitting the ‘yes I’m going to walk’ stage and refused to stay still during his nappy change.  The wriggling octopus got the better of me and after numerous attempts, I simply gave up, and … I was blessed with a phone call providing the much-needed distraction for both of us.

Of course, being a working mum, my customers were providing the much-needed income for us to eat, or so my brain convinced me of many a time.  This time was to prove most interesting.  As I chatted away to George (his name appears elsewhere in this book as being a much-loved angel that was incredibly amazing in our lives), I was engrossed into providing a solution for George’s business issues.  I hadn’t realised how long I had actually been until a certain young man was crawl-toddling (you know when they do both at the same time – one of the few times they multi-task as boys!) down the hall way. He wasn’t happy -  that much I could tell from my office. I couldn’t for the life of me think why – after all he had chocolate smeared all over his face – how he got the chocolate Tim Tams that were in the freezer did flicker across my work fogged brain… until I realised something.  They were  STILL in the freezer – out of sight, out of reach, out of mind… so what on earth… OMG!!!  That familiar stench began to waft towards me – it was almost visible… it wasn’t chocolate!

With a hurried, George I have to go – can I call you back in a few minutes and not waiting for his complete answer - although I’m sure I heard ye…. Click gone!

My focus anew simply because the smell was now unavoidable, as ‘said youngest’ was now clinging to my leg. Having decided to eat his own version of chocolate Tim Tams (excrement), he had realised it wasn’t as tasty coming out, as it was going in. Super mum donned her suit, and between running a bath, grabbing as many cloths to wipe up the trail, (in the meanwhile soothing ‘said child’), all the while trying desperately not to breath -  I managed to clean the young man, floor, and walls up within minutes.

And then Bad Mum kicked in – I decided he needed to learn a lesson and have his teeth cleaned. Toothbrush at the ready, we proceeded to clean, which funnily enough he tolerated well – possibly because toothpaste tasted just a tad better right at the moment in time.

Still feeling as though his world had collapsed in on him, a warmed bottle from the fridge stash would ensure he settled – what I hadn’t anticipated was the burp that resulted in me throwing up on him!

Bad mum moment extended to Bad Mum afternoon.  However I came to the very clear understanding – when people tell you to Eat S#%t and Die… actually you don’t – you might wish you could, but you survive.

Abortion, Genetics and other gremlins

Abortion, Genetic Modification – they are words that bring out the zealots and right to lifers. It’s a lesson I learnt on in my parenting career – those preconceived notions we have about life’s BIG questions and our learned opinions can shift 180® when actual real life experience forces us to see both sides of an argument.

So here I am well over 35 years, one child, a sex-less marriage and an inner pull on my maternal instincts. 

If our eldest was to die from CF, what would I be left with? Read Selfish bad mum thoughts.

What would I be if I was no longer a Mum? I had begun to pin my existence on that label ‘mum.’

Even now, fifteen odd years later, what did I do before becoming a bad mum?  I have absolutely no idea – I know it involved choosing the wrong men, riding simulator motorbikes and basically doing whatever the girls were planning that weekend.

Understanding the genetic condition of our eldest and the challenges with that – having another child with the same condition was not an option – read ‘Control Freak’ – definitely