Pages

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

Embarrassing Bodies: The Puzzled Mummy Edition

This afternoon whilst stood having a conversation with my sons daddy I got an overwhelming itch on my lower back. I reached round and scratched it and the relief was so good I pissed myself. That's right, you heard. I pissed myself. I hobbled to the toilet with my legs crossed, cursing about how having children ruins your bodily functions, and after sharing the incident with a friend (who found it hilarious and didn't sympathise whatsoever) she got me thinking about how utterly embarrassing being a parent is at times. 
Of course you will prepare yourself for the humiliation of  tantrums, the exploding poos that escape up your kids back, and all that jazz. But the real embarrassment comes as you watch your body transform and do things that make you think "THIS IS NOT MY LIFE."
It's the type of embarrassment that springs upon you on some idle Sunday when visiting family. Like the idle Sunday when I visited my cousin & partner who were proudly gushing about their beautiful new couch. I was allowed to sit on said couch because at this time my son was only 2 months old and his destruction techniques hadn't set in at that point. I wasn't covered in chocolate or snot, there was no chance of muddy shoes being wiped on the silky material from my child climbing over me, and allowing me to sit down whilst cradling my child should have been pretty much risk free. 
Or so I thought.
As my cousin left the room to make us a drink my son starting crying. He'd gone a particular long while without requesting to be fed, and as I was breastfeeding, my boobs were feeling extremely full and heavy. I lifted him up and whacked the melons out (another embarrassing post pregnancy body transformation), and something happened. Before my son actually got the chance to latch on, my milk squirted everywhere. All over the brand new couch. Did I mention it was made of material?
With my eyeballs almost popping out in dismay my mum immediately noticed what had happened and started frantically searching through her bag for baby wipes in a desperate attempt to cover up what had happened before anyone came back in the room. 
So a jolly family visit that should have been an enjoyable afternoon ended in my mum and I covertly scrubbing breastmilk of a pristine couch. Sorry mum. 
I guess my friend who encouraged me to write this post (Hi Maisa) felt it important that I do so because guess what? It's gross. No one will warn you. Because it's gross. You'll be expected to suck it up and deal with it.
So here are a few other pointers that expectant mums might like to take on board.
1) Like it or not, the chances are that you probably WILL shit yourself when giving birth.  No one will mention it. Your partner will look away trying to hide the look of repulsion from his face as the midwife whips it away. But you'll know. And one day you'll be sat quietly watching TV or reading a book, and then you'll remember that although at the time you were in a dreamy, gas and air daze, you actually shit yourself. And you didn't care.
2) Whether you choose to breastfeed or not your breasts WILL turn in to gigantic painful boulders and they WILL leak. They will leak when you least expect it, like when you open the door to the Royal Mail guy for instance and notice him looking at your chest. This is when you'll realise that you have two huge wet circles on the front of your top. Expect it. It will happen
3) You WILL at some point fear you are going bald. Actual hair balls will collect in your plug hole and on your pillows. If you're lucky you won't need to buy a wig.  
4) Your feet and ankles will be the size of elephants. But don't worry. They will return back to their normal size eventually. Give it a couple of years. You think I'm kidding don't you?
5) Your vagina will NEVER be the same again. Sorry kids, that's life. 
Life Love and Dirty Dishes

1 comment:

  1. Weed myself reading this. Bloody kids! I squirted the baby in the eye once with the boob juice! Thanks for linking up to #FridayFrolics

    ReplyDelete