Stretch marks, wobbly tummies and abysmal looking fannies are a few of the things that unite us mums. And messy houses. It is chaos! We carry our chub and cherubs with pride and take each day as it comes. We take the good with the bad and smile through far more than we should. And if you’re anything like me, you have a never ending to do list which you’re forever restructuring in order of priority but knowing full well it’ll be an achievement (deserved of a celebratory gin at the very least) if you’ve even ticked ONE thing off that damn list by the end of the day. We battle sleeplessness and chaotic tantrums; face what can be comparable with war zones at meal times. We lose our shit. For me, it’s hourly; but on a good day I can go just once a day. I will tell you where I can’t go once a day. For a pee in peace and that really bugs me. My poor bowels have given up on any sense of regularity, and number twos take a back seat, being permitted only when the kids are asleep because that’s just what mums do.
Oh to be a mum! Some days, you see your baby thrive or hear their little giggle and you just know you’re getting it right. Other times your house is a tip, exploding with toys and various piles of laundry and you literally have no idea how and when you’re going to make time to put it right, but then eventually you’re bang on it and it all feels manageable again - a good day if you like. Until you’re cleaning your car and your kid’s taking a shit on the potty in the boot of your car and you have a serious wtf moment of ‘is this really my life now?’ Laugh it off, have a glass of gin, and put your worries in the fuck-it bin because if your house was tidy, it would be free of signs of playing or any kind of fun and your kid would most likely be a vegetable that watches tv whilst everything stays tidy and put away. If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the last couple of years it’s that they fly by! We have decades of tidy houses and folded laundry ahead, but our babies are only young once. One day all will be clean, tidy and relaxed. And boring AF. I’m not suggesting for a minute that I enjoy perusing the carpet for sprinkled peas, whilst hopelessly praying that none have yet been mushed into the floor, rather that I’m trying to stay relaxed about it all and actually, the carpet cost £30 for a deep clean so if my diva wants to see it she can throw a pea in the air and catch it (she can’t) it’s not the end of the world. The carpet can be cleaned and pretty cheaply, but you can’t put a price on the chuckles she gets as she misses her mouth for the ten thousandth time, or gets one stuck in her hair and has a flabbergasted look on her face as to where the fuck her pea has disappeared to.
This is our life right now. And exhausted is an understated understatement, but my god is my heart full. I look like a zombie, the bags under my eyes are now more of a moat around them and I’m fatter than I ever was. Ive gained an embarrassing amount of weight, probably because I still eat like I’m pregnant, and I’m pretty sure my fat rolls have even started judging my eating habits. I recently went on a diet and decided I couldn’t do it, when I heard of the Kinder freakshake at a nearby cafe. I am a mum and I have no shame. I used to have abs and a thigh gap, and I literally have like a thigh pencil-point, and my bum looks like I’ve been permanently perched on a stone surface, alternated with being repeatedly beaten on the ass with a frying pan. It’s flat. And saggy. And I’m most definitely kidding myself if i think I’ve got time for exercise. The clock strikes 8 and I’m like instantly tired, and happily fall asleep without any desire to engage in rigorous exercise. Anyone else ?
I’m in this constant bittersweet bubble of please get easier, but please stop growing. It’s full on but so funny. I can’t even imagine not being privy to Amelie’s toilet adventures. We literally listen out for the severity of the plop when she does a number two, and i watch her in fits of laughter when it’s a particularly loud one, and it just gets me. She’s two years old and is outright my bestie. Still. She tests every part of me on all levels, but she tickles me with her antics. I think she’s the funniest kid ever. She reminds me every couple of days about my spikes, and I’m incessantly shaving my legs to avoid being labelled spiky. She points out that daddy has more jelly boobies than mummy and regularly tells me that my bum is too big (mainly to fit into kids wings and slides) whilst frequently mistaking the members of the public’s men for women and vice versa and very proudly announcing that ‘no that’s not a lady, he has a moustache’ making me a ‘silly mummy’. Yesterday, she had her story, kids and cuddles and looked at joe and instructed ‘off you go’ to him, heaven forbid he had a cuddle. So to make up for the hardships, there are PLENTY of good times.
Since becoming a mum to a baby all over again, I won’t say it’s not hard, but it’s easier to not get caught up in the trials and tribulations. With Amelie, I used to focus on the end in sight when it would be easier, and find myself imagining an easier life in a couple of years to come. Then when we got there, I wished for them back. I wished to just rock her to sleep again, or that she would hold my hand while she slept. Instead I now get a toe up my nose and a smack in the face if we ever consleep, so the lovely baby snuggles are no more. It’s exceptionally hard dealing with newborn drama, but nothing ever lasts that long and it’s oh so temporary that I just feel a lot more in control. I felt very lost in the unknown territory of new motherhood and if I could go back and tell myself how I’d long for those days soon enough, I’d have spent less time worrying that my child was broken. It’s only about 18 months after labour that you can hand your kid an iPad and a snack, so this time I’m determined to enjoy it in all its glory!
