Wednesday, 7 December 2016

I didn't order tiger stripes.

I think when you're relatively 'small', people don't tend to assume that the carrying and birthing of a person will bear much effect on the body following this. For those nice, shiny people that live in the magazines, this might actually be the case. I even thought myself at some point this might be the case. But 7 pounds 11 of a Freddie David and heavily torn stomach muscles later, this is definitely not the case.

Some friends are cute enough to tell you how well you look post-baby, but as they only see you on those rare occasions you plan your outfit and let yourself out of the house for, this mac-contoured portrayal might not stand up as accurate. Basically they can't see through your underwear.

I have achieved that awkward in between size trouser where a size small would provide me with one stomach too many, but a size up would have itself branded the no sex tonight trouser. By trouser I obviously mean pyjama trouser as these are my predominant choice of trouser.

I'm hoping next summer will be my 'look at my epic stomach in my non-high-rise bikini bottom' and 'how did she do it?' summer, as this year we opted for the fully clothed holidays and just continued to eat the food and pretend we didn't know what the gyms were.

The hips I acquired I'm not sure I can do much about to be honest. I'm not saying I dislike them but I do have rather miniature legs for a fully grown person so this now means I have to roll up my bottoms until I've formed nice hearty donuts around my ankles. So in conclusion I've acquired donut ankles post-birth. That's what I've learnt from this journey of motherhood.

Last of all on the list I wasn't aware I was making,  I suppose would be the stretch marks. You know, those things the optimists like to call tiger stripes to big you up, but last time I checked I wasn't a wild animal. I am just a poor woman who looks like her toddlers had twenty minutes with a highlight marker around her lady parts and is definitely not laughing. And why did you even think it necessary to stretch in those areas? The baby was growing purely mid-central, I checked on this. I practically bathed in every form of cream and oil on the market. Do I send these companies highly inappropriate images to get my money back? Or do I accept that this is growing up, this is old, this is mum and this is OK and you can't really see them in certain lights anyway?

When I had first had Freddie I was desperately unhappy about my body but I also remember feeling quite desperate in general at times too. Lack of sleep, pressure and hormones does that to a girl. Nearly two years on, I can't even set to inspire with change. I haven't gone green or taken up hot yoga. I haven't swapped my biscuits for graze boxes or bought one of those generic DVDs. I haven't won a slimming world award or given my meals their own Instagram account. I've been busy working and I've been busy mum-ing and somewhere along the way, other things have become more important. That's not to say that becoming a parent means it's OK to neglect yourself, I just also think life is too hard sometimes and too short other times to not eat the bloody cake. And if I have to be slightly more dishevelled, foolishly telling the world I'll give it another go next summer so I can eat my cherry bakewell with no self-judgement, I'm good with that. I'm so good with being a non-size 8, cake-eating, head full of whinge but a heart properly full of love Mummy.