There’s a mummy shaped power vacuum and Bad Mum is stepping up.
Perfect Mum is dead.
The problem is that now there’s a mummy shaped power vacuum and Bad Mum is stepping up. It seems we’re no longer struggling for domestic perfection we’re clambering over ourselves to be bad parents.
I get it – we like Bad Mum, she swears, she drinks, she reads her smartphone in the park while the kids face plant off the roundabout. On the surface that description does seem to fit my parenting style perfectly so you might imagine I’d be cheering Bad Mum on.
But I’m not.
I didn’t want to be Perfect Mum but I didn’t hate her either, she made cakes, what’s not to like about someone who bakes cakes?
To be honest Perfect Mum never really bothered me, if someone else wants to keep their house clean and *shudder* do crafts with their children, all power to their elbow. I will not be joining in mainly because I have a temperamental oven *ahem* and an aversion to cleaning other people’s shit up off the kitchen floor.
(I should point out that if there was actual shit on my kitchen floor I would totally clean it up, I’m not an animal).
Whilst I’m indifferent about Perfect Mum I also don’t really like Bad Mum. Bad Mum can fuck right off, actually she’d probably like that so I shall just ask her politely to leave instead.