The realities of motherhood, pregnancy and yummy mummies

I'm reading a book at the moment - I read about one book a year - in January. Must be something to do with resolutions. It usually takes me about 4 months to read it from beginning to end - 3 pages here, a chapter there. But it's nice to read. I like it. I'm reading a book called the Rise and Fall of a Yummy Mummy. My sister in law lent it to me - she's a mother too, and her little girl is month younger than mine. While it's not a brilliant book, it's mama trash and I'm enjoying having a brainless read. It's inspired this post actually.

Before I had children I thought pregnancy was this beautiful, romantic time of swelling mother and growing unborn child. I hadn't realised that it was nine (more like ten) months of losing your figure, teetotal-dom, massive sore tits, dandruff, nosebleeds, spots, lank hair, sickness, cravings, uncomfort, bad back, swollen ankles, swollen fingers, swollen fucking everything, stretch marks. It's not the 'sit back and put your feet up darling' waited on hand and foot moment I had been led to believe. The reality is that it's real life - but harder and you feel like shit for quite a lot of it. (although I secretly love the whole pregnancy thing).

And motherhood isn't hours of coo-ing, cuddling, Johnsons baby powder fragranced nurseries and gurgles and giggles. It's sick on your shoulder, leaking nipples, more stretch marks, weight gain not loss, looking like shit because you dont' have the time to put make up on - or shower, nipple thrush, mastitis, piles, loads of washing, and real life still happens too. You've still got ironing and shopping to get done.

So much for yummy mummies. My sister in law and I call us Slummy Mummies! Slobbing on the sofa with a tub of ice cream watching girlie movies. And why not - surely that is the reality for most of us mothers. By the end of the day you are too knackered to go out and drink champagne daaarling; you want to have a bath, curl up and chill out. Before reality strikes again the following morning. There is so much pressure on mothers to look the part, act the part, be financially independent, professionally successful, have perfectly behaved, clean and well presented children, look after their husbands, keep an immaculate home. Well I'd like to ask one question - who the fuck looks after us?