We all need to be ‘called out’, as the woke younguns would say, when exhibiting undesirable behaviour. And I’m here to do just that this week.
Buy some popcorn.
It’s confession time.
I, Annabel Fenwick Elliott, am a judgemental mother. This is ironic, because it is one of the character traits I most despise in others. I am of the ‘live and let live’ school of philosophy, or at least I like to think I am. Judgy mums were something I feared when I was preparing to have you, Jasper.
But here I am.
A judgy mother.
It makes no sense. Why do I care what other people do with children that aren’t mine? I don’t even like or want to spend time with children that aren’t mine. I don’t care what people do with their hair, or where they go on holiday, or who they shag. Why should I care how they feed or discipline their offspring?
There are lots of things on my list of judgments, and I’ll jot them all down in a moment, but at the very top of my hit list this week is the ‘milk ladder’. I simply can’t stop fuming about it. As usual, this has absolutely nothing to do with you, Jasper, so I absolutely should not care.
It concerns some of my mum friends, who have babies that are intolerant to dairy. This has been the case since birth. So much so that their mothers had to give it up because it was coming through their milk and severely upsetting their stomachs.
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