Ways I Have Lost My Dignity Since Becoming a Mum
1. Excess Hair
Ok, so when it gets to that part in The Gruffalo, where it reads ‘It’s The Gruffalo! Are you brave enough to kiss him goodnight?’ Instead of fighting over the book in an attempt to slobber all over The Gruffalo, my children are in grave danger of turning to kiss ME. I am actually starting to resemble The Gruffalo. My legs are lucky if they get a biannual shave, and even then I usually give up, because even the bravest of razors struggles to hack through the dense mass. If you flew a plane over my bikini line, you may just be able to spy one of those tribes, untouched by civilisation, shaking their spears at you, just wanting to be left alone in the forest they call home. Standards of grooming have slipped unbearably low…
2. My eating habits have become almost as disgusting as my children’s
One day I was jiggling a fractious Deep Thinker up and down on my knee, whilst simultaneously trying to eat a bowl of soup. I was STARVING. He suddenly took it upon himself to sneeze, straight into my bowl. Think actual greenies being propelled out of his nose and mouth, at incredible speeds, torpedoing straight into my barely eaten soup. I ate it. I was THAT hungry. I also think nothing of eating off the floor (shove the 5 second rule,) and have fished out chocolate from the children’s neck creases and eaten it before they have noticed what it is, and demanded it for themselves. With not having regular mealtimes, or time to eat by myself, I have to stoop to such lows in order to stay alive. It’s every man for himself.
3. My bladder is not what it was
Yes, we are all told in antenatal class that we need to be doing so many million sets of pelvic floor exercises per day, in order not be urine leaking cat ladies once our babies are out. A combination of really only being in antenatal class for the mummy friends, and working sometimes 14 hour days (the first time around anyway) where I barely got time to eat, let alone give my pelvic floor a fleeting thought, meant that I was going to be subjected to extreme loss of dignity in the future. Just after Deep Thinker was born, I came down with a chest infection, and coughed constantly. During my first massive coughing session, I wet the bed. As I was thinking that the peeing my pants was not going to happen for another 60 years, Tena Lady was not something I had readily to hand. So I put one of Deep Thinkers nappies in my knickers… Not just once, I did it routinely until I stopped coughing… Shameful!
4. My personal hygiene can be shady
There is absolutely no time in my life for shopping. Even if there was, Deep Thinker and Mini Assassin get fractious within seconds of entering a shop, and it doesn’t give me enough time to choose stuff. All they want to do at the shopping centre is try and throw themselves into the fountain there, so they are like wild animals trying to free themselves from the buggy to get to it. You get it, it’s hard. The issue is, I can’t fit into about 95% of my wardrobe. So not only will my brain not accept that I will probably never fit into my lovely clothes again (massive heaving sob,) coupled with the fact that I can never get to the shops, I am presented with very little to wear. So I often wear the same clothes for days, or fish clothes out from the washing basket, pick off the dried on snot and food, spray perfume on the armpits and crotch (just to be safe) and away I go. Oh how I mourn for the days where I left the house with my highlighted hair bouncing, my size 10 clothes clean, and everything plucked and waxed…
5. Things have come out of my mouth, which I’m really not proud of
Before children, I was quite shy, and outrageously British in being appropriate. After children, this no longer applies. At all. Once, I had been walking Deep Thinker for AGES in his pushchair (it was only place he would sleep during the day,) and he was overtired, screaming, and really struggling to nod off. I was tired, grumpy, and as I spent hours a day aimlessly walking him around, I was also in pain, as I’d injured my knee continuing with this debacle. He had just gone off to sleep, and I had just relaxed a bit, and slowed my pace. Just as I slowed down, a police car parked up on the side of the road suddenly turned on its lights and sirens, and started to pull away. But it didn’t even go quickly, it went at snails pace, with the deafening scream emanating from it, indicating that if it were a real emergency, it should’ve been going a lot bloody faster, and not hanging around making enough noise to wake the dead!!!! So, I saw red. I wanted to grab that policeman, wrap my hands around his neck, and squeeze the life out of him. And I ran down the road after the car, shouting ‘you f***ing c**t, you absolute complete and utter f***ing f**kface! Look what you’ve done!’ Wow, the irrationality of a tired mum knew no bounds… What a dreadful undignified chav mother I must’ve looked… I have also announced to the lady taking the money at soft play that ‘I would rather shoot myself in the head than carry on with this parenting malarkey,’ and told the lovely lady at the church playgroup door that free coffee just wasn’t going to cut it. I needed free vodka. These were only a few scarce moments of letting my guard down, in a tired, wine deprived haze, but my previous, extremely dignified self, would NOT have approved.
6. I am NEVER prepared
As with the afore mentioned non-existent Tena Lady issue, I also seemed to have forgotten what having a period is all about, and always feel shocked when I get one. I didn’t have one for 3 years, with the pregnancies close together, and with PCOS, so I seemed to just forget exactly what I need in order to deal with it. I’m ALWAYS making an emergency dash to the shop for tampons (usually whilst again wearing a nappy!!!) Our house always seems to be lacking in essentials. One time I had injured my back in a gym related attempt at getting back into my old wardrobe incident. Looking after the children was devastatingly difficult enough with the pain, without me having to make an emergency dash to the shops for nappies (this time for my actual children, there’s definitely a running theme here) because like the forgetful idiot I’ve become, I forgot to get any with that weeks food shop. I really needed pain relief to get me through the journey there, but didn’t have any. So, if walking hunched over the pushchair, moaning in agony wasn’t enough, I had to stop on the side of the road, in a pain induced panic about how I was realistically going to reach my destination. I suddenly had the massive brain wave that I had a bottle of calpol in the changing bag! A lifeline!! So, I sat there calculating that 100mg in 5mls meant that to get the adult dose of 1000mg, I would need 10 syringes of the stuff to feel the effect. So I sat there. On the side of the road. Syringing 10 actual syringes of calpol into my desperate mouth… Oh. My. Life.
7. Metformin does embarrassing things to your body
When I was pregnant with Mini Assassin, I became resistant to insulin. After numerous trips to the GP to try and work out what was wrong with me, this conclusion was reached, and I was prescribed metformin, a drug used to treat diabetics (I’m not diabetic, but the side effect of taking metformin is that it lowers insulin resistance.) Another side effect of metformin is that it causes unwanted wind, of gale force proportions. The GP explained that it might make my tummy a ‘little gripy.’ Try constantly gurgling, trying to let the foulest ever smell emanate from you, from the slightest ever movement. Thank GOD that when this happens in public, I can say in a loud theatrical voice ‘oh, I think someone needs a nappy change!’ (*secretly laughs a little*) But seriously? My husband has commented that it’s like an assassination attempt by German mustard gas… Enough said, I need to move on quickly.
8. Children do things they think are hilarious, which make you want to kill them
So, we are on holiday at the child infested, over populated destination that is Center Parcs. I’m grappling with both children in the pool changing room, as my husband has suddenly had to urgently dash off somewhere (he just needed to get away from the hell that was the changing rooms.) Mini Assassin is trying to escape through the big crack under the door, Deep Thinker is throwing our wet AND dry clothes everywhere, including next doors cubicle. Mini Assassin has made a particularly heroic Houdini bid for freedom, meaning that even though I had no clothes on, I had to open the door to try and grab him back in. Even though I thought I’d only need to open it just enough to fit an arm through, thus protecting my postnatal nudity (which NOBODY needs to see,) Deep Thinker suddenly thought it’d be hilarious to shove me from behind with all his might. I went crashing through the gap, landing in a heap on the floor, outside of the cublicle. For all to see. You couldn’t make this shit up.
Thanks for reading!