Operation Bring Back Miss Fierce
You know that bit inside yourself, the fun bit, the rebellious bit, and dare I say it – the sexy bit? Well mine is called Miss Fierce. (Is it a sign of mental health problems that I have named her?! Nowt to do with Beyoncé you understand, she is named for an Adam Ant song where Miss Fierce kisses a drummer. I have kissed a lot of drummers, even married a couple of them, but in the end I kissed the right one and this time it’s 4/4 ever….. #musicpun)
Anyway, Miss Fierce has been missing in action since my youngest was born, she manages to sneak out occasionally, usually after a few rums, but I want to bring her back properly. I am bored of being boring. I am bored of feeling frumpy. So how to I bring her back to the surface? How do you find yourself after motherhood? I have done it before, and I can do it again!
Step One: Accept that I am older. Not old old, not purple rinse old (though I rather look forward to that stage), but older than I used to be, which is the way things work. No diet is ever bringing back that youthful spring, but loving myself (not in a masturbatory fashion you perv) would help a bit. I have lost some weight, there is some more to go. I know it is terribly anti ‘The Womanhood’ to care about body image, but my fat ain’t a feminist issue, it isn’t imposed by some mythical media ideal of perfection, it’s about being comfortable in my skin, and my skin likes to wear a size 12.
Gravity is still my friend, without it I would be sucked into the vast blackness of space to suffocate in it’s star scattered loneliness, but it’s not doing my boobs any favours these days. My face isn’t far behind my breasts in terms of fighting off gravity’s downward pull, and there are the fresh lines of a life well lived appearing each day. But that doesn’t mean it’s all bad, it’s creakier than it was, but gets me from A to B very well, and it needs appreciating like a maturing fine wine, more rounded and interesting with age.
I have gone back to being a red head, because that rumour that blondes have more fun is a myth. I am trying desperately to find clothes that reflect my indie matron sensibilities and make me feel good. I am going to make the most of it, cos you know today is the youngest I am ever going to be, so that is worthy of its own laudation. I wish to grow old disgracefully not emulating the cover of a Boden brochure. Bring me the clothes of a 1950’s screen siren, but with more skulls, and add in a side order of the confidence to wear it please. Which brings me onto…..
Step Two: Stop reading here Mum! Being sexy. Not feeling sexy is not cool, but you know what makes you feel sexy, having sex. My man is hot, I fancy the pants off him, and without wishing to brag, we are good at the sex. So why don’t we have more of it? Well partly because there is a nearly 3 year old in our bedroom and a teenager seemingly everywhere else in the house, but also because I don’t fancy myself much. I look at my self through his imaginary eyes and think he wonders where the sexy woman from five years ago went, and why she was replaced with a saggier, baggier version. I don’t really think he cares that much about the few extra pounds, I bet he misses the uninhibited me more than he misses the flatter belly, so I am going to stop feeling hyper critical of my body and get some new matching undies and celebrate my more womanly shape.
Step Three: Live in the moment again. I have got terribly caught up in house hunting, and school catchment concerns, and looking to the future while forgetting about the now. Now is the thing, now will be gone in a minute and it isn’t coming back. See look, that now has gone already and I am into the next now, and the next. Shame to waste this now worrying about next years now when this now could be the most perfect moment of now in the now, if you know what I mean.
Step Four: Listen to more of that good ol’ dirty Rock’n’Roll. I never feel more myself than when something awesomely loud and nasty is playing. OK, so it is hard to fit in too many nights at raucous gigs, and even blaring out music while doing the housework is tricky when you live upstairs from an opticians, but Dr Fierce is prescribing herself noisy headphone time when Syd is at pre-school.
Step Five: Controversially maybe, step away from the blog. Not stop, nah, I do love it really, but my week off was great and blogging can have a tendency to make you an observer in your own life. When you take photos you are thinking they will be good for the blog. When the kids annoy you, you think ‘oh well, at least it’s good blog fodder.’ On days out and days in it lurks. Life becomes material when it should be just life. So yeah, I am gonna live my life and blog some shite when I feel it and not when I don’t. Blogging records life, it isn’t life, and sometimes it is easy to forget that.
Step Six: Remember that she never went anywhere at all. I am still me in all my glorious insanity, it is just that life squashed the wild bit of me to the edges for a while. There is still only a tiny portion of time where she can be let out of the cage, after all, she isn’t really welcome at the school gate. In fact I should stop referring to her in the third person all together, I AM MISS FIERCE, I just got lost for a while, I need to rescue myself from under a pile of limited sleep and neurosis.
Love Miss Fierce Cisco XXX