Being an arsehole this Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day everyone! Today we celebrate the wonderful women in our lives. The ladies who raised us and turned us into the fine, upstanding forces we are today. I am forever grateful that despite the odds stacked against us, and the millions of sperm and thousands of eggs that didn't make it, somehow the universe put me and my beautiful Mumsie together. Although I think Dad and I are a lot more alike in our personalities, everyone has always said that Mum and I look just like one another. And we've never seen it, but I think her calm and kind manner must have rubbed off on me. Plus the hips and thighs. We definitely share those. Although I'm pretty disappointed I got Dad's chest.....

But today is also a little hard. Perhaps the build up to a day dedicated to celebrating the one thing we as women should be, and that I can't be, has got to me. Because what you are about to read definitely makes me an arsehole. My mother would not approve of such behaviour, and my Dad would definitely not approve of such language. But I am. I'm a Mother's Day arsehole.

You might have spotted that I've been doing a lot more stuff on social media in the last couple of months. Rather than just writing my blogs every once in a while, I have a page on Facebook and Instagram where I can add silly, short, photo posts of day to day life post-cancer (these mainly consist of the cats or me pulling silly faces). They're nothing exciting at all really, but they have made me lots of contacts with fellow cancery people and organisations. They've also made me realise how easy I had it, both in terms of my treatment and my side effects.

But one absolute twatish thought always pops in to my mind as I go through these new Instagram stories. It's stupid and childish and completely selfish and naive, and every time I think it I know I'm being an absolute dick.

'Yeh, but at least you got to have kids.'

The women who have children and then find out they have cancer. The women who find out while they're pregnant. Yes, I know it must be so hard for you and your family to deal with. But at least you got to have kids.

What an absolute arsehole.

I really don't mean it. I can't imagine anything worse than having little people around who are your world and you love more than anything, and finding out you have this horrid disease that could take you away from them. And it must be horrific to have those days where you feel like you can't take any more - where you don't want to move or open your eyes or think about anything other than how God awful you feel, but you have to keep going for those little people. How do you put on that front that Mummy is OK and that things will be alright?

But at least you got to have kids.

It's always the way that when something is affecting you in your world, it's all you see and hear. I feel like everything I see and hear is all about babies and getting pregnant.

The stupid advert on TV and online where the couple can't read the pregnancy test. Hooray for this new stick that boldy spells out 'Pregnant'! Now they can overflow with confident joy whilst sat on the floor of their enormous bathroom.

(I'm not alone in this thought either. While trying to find a photo for this blog, I stumbled across a whole host of other moans and groans about the same thing. Why is it shoved in our face during our light entertainment that getting pregnant should be our main priority? It's not even just shown during female-orientated programming, it's all the live long day. Fuck off!)

The hideous 'These girls will fall pregnant this year' type lists that pop up on Facebook. And even worse, the friends who tag each other when their name is mentioned, followed by the 'hahaha oh my god can you imagine!! I'd die!!'. Yup, so funny.

And even though I know it's all a load of rubbish, I can't help looking for my name, and feeling a real sting when I find it. These are so poisonous.

And the worst of it - the 'targeted' social media advertising that is recommended just for me.

Seriously? And no matter how often I click the little 'show less' button, or how often I tell them it isn't relevant, they keep on coming. Why is that? Because I'm a woman in my early 30s maybe? Because I'm friends with women who have children?

It's ridiculous to get annoyed about it, because statistically I probably should be planning for a baby. I'm the prime target market. So well done Facebook. Except this girl didn't opt in for that. And sadly she can't opt in for a baby. So piss off.

I know I have options. I know I'm luckier than a lot of women going through treatment who don't have a family yet. I got to freeze some eggs so that one day, when I've won the lottery to be able to afford it, and have found a selfless woman kind enough to carry my child for me, I could potentially have a baby via a surrogate. And a baby that is biologically mine at that.

But the time and the planning involved honestly makes me think I just can't be arsed. I want to decide that now might be a nice time to start a family, have a good shag and fall pregnant. Easy. Not decide that now might be nice time to start a family, then have to start saving thousands of pounds, try and find a surrogate, deal with a fertility clinic to try and get things started, hopefully fall pregnant, figure out how on earth it works following the pregnancy and being involved without being annoying as hell with constant 'how are you and the baby?' type texts and calls, then once it's finally here, having to deal with legally adopting my own child. It hurts my head just thinking about it. No wonder I'm finding more and more grey hairs.

And I know that even when all your lady bits supposedly work, falling pregnant isn't always as easy as just bumping uglies. It can take time and you may need help too. But at least you got to have your own kids.

To all the women I have secretly hated because you have children. To all the people I stopped following on social media because I wish I had your life and can't bear to look at it. To all the mums I've judged and thought it's so unfair because I'd do a much better job than you. And to all the brave ladies who are going through hell and using every ounce of strength to survive cancer, but of whom I've so quickly thought 'yeh, but at least you got to have kids' - I'm sorry. It's not you I'm mad at. It's cancer. And it's me.

I'm frustrated with the world. Cancer is a bloody bollocking bastard and I am exhausted with trying to pretend it hasn't massively pissed me off.

God dammit I wish my bits still worked.

Yeh, but at least I'm still alive.