CHILL THE F*CK OUT.
Birth story not the glorious glowy lovefest you had hoped it would be (Sunroof? Salad tongs? Pooed on the pavement in front of your neighbours?). That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Disinterested or even *whispers* slightly repelled when first spy your offspring? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Disgusted by that first meconium poo - not to mention the endless flood of blood flowing forth from you? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Resentful that the hordes of visitors are infinitely more interested in the baby than you, even though YOU'RE THE ONE THAT DID THE AGONY? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Having a horrible time trying to breastfeed? Tits bleeding? Breastapo giving you grief? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Dribbling hormonal mess that sobs all afternoon sloshing tears on baby's face? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Subsisting on a diet of hob-nobs, tea and takeaway? And maybe a teeny spot of gin? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Baby crying and you don't know why? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Baby still crying and you consider throwing it out of window? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Baby STILL crying and you've stopped caring altogether? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Completely and utterly preoccupied by your baby's shitty sleep? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Forgot to take photos of those precious first smiles? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Failed to take the change bag when you leave the house, and end up covering the aisles of Asda with swathes of baby poo? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Much less together than every other mother you've ever met ever? Especially that snotty cow with the perfectly organised Cath Kidston oilskin accessories? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Accidentally pour tea on your child in a sleep-deprived moment of stupidity? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Can't be arsed to take baby to Rhyme and Sign? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Checking Facebook behind baby's back while you're doing night feeds? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
Dress your baby up like a gangster for your own amusement? That's OK. You're still a good mother.
I could go on. AND ON. But you get the drift.
However you are doing, you are doing just fine.
Motherhood is a big crazy ride - in the words of my wise big sis "a rollercoaster you can NEVER get off". You're in this for the long haul and you are just at the beginning.
It gets easier.
And it also gets harder.
But you will get through nonetheless.
Chill the fuck out, mama.
Stop wasting your precious moments with your snot faced poo machine. Obsessing, hand-wringing and beating yourself up achieves nothing.
And you're doing great.
You're a wonderful mother, just as you are.