A few weeks ago I had what could only be described as a ‘Mummy Life Crisis’. Having successfully ‘mothered’ Florence for 5 months I had reached a point where I felt as in control and on it as any first time parent ever can. Sucessful is a loose term, by which I mean I could competantly change a nappy and my pyjama to clothes weekly ratio was bordering on socially acceptable. What began as a smug pat on the back soon gave way to a pity party. When your brain stops being challened by which side of a vest is the front you have time to acknowledge the state of your face, your snot stained jeans and your complete lack of direction in life come the end of maternity leave.
Enter the mummy life crisis…I felt older than my years and plunged into a faceless sea of women where we all have the same name ‘mummy’. There’s only so much you can do when you have a baby stuck to your boob but my gosh was I going to do SOMETHING. A makeover turned out to be my first and last point of call. I did the standard hair chop, very nice. But then I decided to pick up where my 17 year old self left off and get an ear piercing; it would stand for rebellion, pointlessness and anti-practicality. It would be the epitome of ‘un-mumsyness’ . It would also be sparkly and I like that. After getting said piercing, which I am ashamed to say hurt A LOT even after experiencing child birth, I was handed the ‘after care’ sheet. This information leaflet was similar in length to the post-natal guide you get when you leave the hospital with your newborn baby. My dependant piercing required of me to soak it in a solution of sea salt water for 10 minutes, twice a day for 10 weeks. TEN WEEKS. I did the maths, thats 24 hours of my life in the next 10 weeks dedicated to holding the top of my ear in an eggcup of perfectly cooled boiled salt water. I carried out this task with all the poise and elegance of a mother who struggles to run a wet wipe over her baby’s face once a day.
As I write this post I am sat in the John Lewis Cafe, a swarming ground for mums and babes. With one scan of the room I can see gorgeous mums with flawless makeup and skin tight floral jeans. I can also see women who have that shellshocked look of sleep deprivation and unbrushed hair. The fact is I can sit here and envy this lady’s impeccable eyebrows and toned stomach whilst I try to remember the last time I changed my socks or I can choose not to. There are clouds and sunshine in everyone’s life but we don’t see the full picture at a glance. My mother always told me ‘to be kind to yourself’ and I think it’s time to start. Mummies, we struggle, laugh, win, lose, look fabulous and then get pooped on in the space of a day. Let’s be kind and love ourselves a little more. I’m working on that.