From Pearl Jam Posters to Parenthood
I used to sunbake for hours, listen to Alanis Morissette on my triple stack 2000, and draw dicks in my school diary. I used to raid Dad's coin jar to buy lollies and smokes and write poetry during 'Maths in Practice' about how romantically tragic my life was.
I loved my cousins. We'd choreograph dances to 'Physical Attraction' by Madonna and perform them at church, and we loved staying up to watch Dickie on Hey Hey It's Saturday.
Every Friday, I'd buy slutty metallic clothes from ROADS, drink passion pop and watch the sunrise listening to Prodigy at paddock parties.
I used to walk our dog in the rain, watch Funniest Home Videos, and plaster my walls with Eddie Vedder. I made candle holders from Jack Daniel's and West Coast Cooler bottles, gassed my room with incense, and changed my hair colour every week.
I played Duck Hunt and Street Fighter, read The Bridge to Terabithia and watched The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe until I was 25. I'd tune into RAGE and wish I were famous, write songs using two chords, and spend days recording and labelling mixed tapes for road trips.
I smoked weed, always ran out of fuel, and dry-humped my way through the mid-90s to 'Peaches' by Presidents of the United States.
We took disposable cameras to the pub and apologised to the developers in advance.
And my cat always knew when I was sick. We'd curl up in bed for days.
Everything I wore to my school ball was silver: no hair extensions, botox or red carpet. We'd get stoned and play pool at our after-parties, dressed in cons, suede brown flares and crocheted cardigans.
Now
I re-roll 300km of toilet paper every day. Forget my tit's hanging out when I unload the dishwasher. I store chocolate in my pockets, use Liam's beard trimmer on my bush and answer questions like, 'Mum, are my balls and arsehole attached?'
I ask GPT how to remove permanent marker from wood, and I have to share every meal with my toddler. She eats old yoghurt drops from the car seat, refuses to wear clothes and uses a litre of pump soap after every shit.
I wear my maternity bra and high-waisted underwear on Cable Beach, throw most of my kids' artwork in the bin, and listen to dinosaurs roaring in the toy box at 3 am.
I buy exotic ingredients and then make toast. I spend the little spare time I have making reels of my kids, and I tell Austin he's never getting tech again while I download a new game.
I pretend I'm not struggling to breathe when my toddler takes off in public places, and I gauge how appropriate my son's conversations are by the reactions of strangers.
When I blast my kids for fighting, they team up and turn on me. I never wear makeup, and I buy educational puzzles off TEMU that have missing letters and numbers.
I feel so unaccomplished that I write lists comprised only of things I've achieved so I can cross them off.
I buy clothes based on a perfect social image of myself, but then I never wear them because I don't socialise.
I kill plants. Lots of plants.
I convince myself that it's okay to binge sugar-free desserts and then shit my pants, and I LIVE for planning holidays I'll never go on.
I buy weighted toys to calm the kids, but the dog roots them, and it takes me 4 years to watch a series.
I watch motivational posts on social media about giving up social media and buy sexy underwear for Liam, but then I hurl it up the back of my cupboard shelving.
I give everything away on marketplace for free because I hate people and I watch the dog drag his arsehole along the belt of my treadmill and think 'fuck I'm never using that again,' even though I've never used it.
Sometimes, it's worth looking back. We are the memories, the stories and the places. We are the dick drawings, the parenting fails, and the disposable photographs.
We are everything, all at once.
