You Get The Baby You Need To Have, by Rebecca Hooton

Hi, I’m Bec. I could tell you about that I’ve worked for magazines like Cosmopolitan and Harper’s Bazaar.

But I believe we’re so much more than our job titles.

I could tell you about how I’ve interviewed Victoria’s Secret Angels and the biggest “influencers” in the world, like fitness expert Kayla Itsines.

But those things don’t define who I am.

Here’s the truth: none of us are as put together as we seem on the internet.

The real me prefers smaller social setting over big groups.

I’ve got some serious pigmentation since turning 30.

And I struggle to feel like motherhood is “enough”.

All of the job titles in the world don’t prepare you for the most challenging job in the world… CEO of Motherhood.

You can’t do a uni course in it.

There’s no internship in being a mum.

You’re just thrown right in and it’s difficult in ways you never could have imagined.

I think it all started from the moment I knew Arthur was inside my tummy…


I wore crystals in my bra to make sure my energy was “right”.

I was set on being the mostcalm pregnant person on the planet.

I meditated, I did cat pose EVERY MORNING. I ate all of the avocados. I basically went vegan (Okay, okay, I had a few full-strength, full-dairy cappuccinos. So shoot me.)

But apart from that, I was literally the best pregnant person EVER.

Then I still got the most angsty, cry-y, non-sleepy baby ever to exist.

At first I felt SO ripped off: “But I’m a perfect mother, I did all the things! Where’s my perfectly zen child?!”

I soon discovered that it doesn’t work like that.

Somehow, motherhood is the best and the worst at the same time.

I’ve felt like I’ve given up career goals.

I’ve angrily gotten up through the night while my husband slept.

I’ve had moments where I regretted even having a child (not my proudest moment).

For me, this is the year of letting go of the martyrdom. That feeling that you’re sacrificing so much all the time just by being a mum. (Nights out with the girls, “me” time, my perky boobs, etc).

If you have any inkling that you’re not okay mental-health wise, get expert help. Talk to someone. Anyone. It’s SO important.

But personally, I know I just need to stop focusing on what I’m giving up and remember what I’m gaining (Those delicious little arm rolls, to start with!)

You know what? I’m pretty sure Arthur arrived to break me into a million pieces. To make me angry, bored and frustrated… and to build me back up again, but in a stronger, more whole way than before.

Well, here’s hoping… Otherwise, where are those crystals at?


Bio: My name’s Bec and I live in a sleepy suburb in the peaceful Blue Mountains of Sydney, Australia, with my one-year-old Arthur and husband Brendon. I work as a writer from my couch with my little laptop and a ginger tea by my side, overlooking the bush.

Instagram: @themountainmummy

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