I’m that mum that looks in the mirror and sees the reflection of a shadow of her former self, the body before kids that she took for granted; who touches the marks left behind from child bearing; that is greeted by the vision of no longer perky boobs, dimples in her thighs and bum, and stretchy skin; that is more comfortable in this skin than she was before children, and will wear a bikini without fear of judgement.
I’m that mum that wants to wear every type of clothing because it makes me feel amazing, and not look at it from a “is this breast feeding friendly” aspect, or “JEEPERS!! My white blazer has snot on the shoulder AGAIN!”, but still wears those types of clothing because sometimes it’s just easier and that’s all that matters; who will happily wear her lace underwear by day to the office, then prance around on undie-arvo at home in cotton briefs because sometimes, wearing something sexy underneath is all you need to feel good about leaving your screaming baby with the also sleep deprived team member at daycare; who is confident in the knowledge that I may never be able to dress the same as I did before, but that it’s probably a good thing because midriff tops are really only suited for the younger generation anyway……. or are they.. 😉
I’m that mum that craves affection and touch but can’t stand it actually happening because she’s been carrying a child for hours; that wonders what it’s like to have a shower without being spoken to; who now knows more about Lego and Minecraft than what is happening on Survivor; that wonders what it’s like to have some kind of non-parent sex, because let’s face it, that intimate couple of minutes may have created said distraction, but it would be nice to get in more than a few minutes before having toddler hands touch you mid-shag and kill the passion quicker than a speeding bullet.
I’m that mum that wants to flaunt her legs in a skirt or shorts but hasn’t been able to shave her legs in a few weeks, and fears that passers by may be concerned by the cobwebs that appear to cover her skin; that would love someone else to wax her eyebrows so that they look even; that longs for the opportunity to book a hair appointment that isn’t based around nap time, or how long the kids will be able to entertain themselves before taking the hairdryers hostage and going to war on one another with them.
I’m that mum that currently has to work and gets begged to come to assembly but can’t make it; who wants to be involved in parent helper days but knows that it won’t happen until she retires; whos child wants them to be involved in the bake sale but can’t bare the thought of being in the kitchen, let alone baking; that wants her kids to eat healthily, but has had a terrible day and “oh look! Macca’s is on the way home….. “.
I’m that mum that has sat in a café, hunched over her coffee and cried in exhaustion; that has smacked their child in the food court because they were throwing food at their sibling; that has laughed at the table because their kid has ripped a really rotten fart.
I’m that mum that wants the kids to go outside and play, but not wreck their few “good clothes”; that loses her cool when the kids comes inside with their dirt coated feet and walk across the floors that have just been mopped for the first time in months; that photographs everything for the second child because mummybrain doesn’t actually remember anything from the first one, and could probably do with some assistance this time round in preparation for any future potential additions to the family.
I’m that mum that juggles all her balls every day; that often drops her balls; that isn’t afraid to admit that none of her balls are as clean and shiny as she’d like them to be.
I’m that mum that knows she’s not alone in this daily battle with guilt, mess and warped humour.
And I’m ok with that.