So I’m seeing a personal trainer. She’s lovely and I actually don’t hate exercise for once. I don’t love it, but I can tolerate it, if she’s there cheering me on. She keeps asking me to do jumping stuff. Alas a star jump still eludes me, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do one unless I’ve been at the Tena, Shamefacedly explaining this to her, reminded me of a sad event of 3 and a half years ago. I still remember it clearly, I fear it will be imprinted on my mind forever.
I woke up on that fateful morning full of confidence. I was totally rocking this parenting shizzle. I had 5 actual hours sleep, I’d watched 3 back to back Peppa Pigs while I fed the month old baby, and the toddler was just happily sat next to me in bed holding my hand. We got through breakfast with a song in our hearts. No Cheerio was left uneaten. Clothes were donned without argument. I was on top of the world. I was like a walking Instagram quote cliche, I was going to seize the day, grab the moment, live my dreams……..
I’ve never been one to think big, my dreams are largely achievable (aside from that one I keep having about a massive lottery win, Idris Elba and unlimited calorie free baked Camembert). I don’t wish for much. My dream for the last month had been as follows – we’re going to toddler group.
I had a 4 week old baby. I’d taken it easy that last month. Luckily for me, it’d been nice weather, so the Diva had played in the garden a lot, we’d watched so much C-Beebies, she thought Mr Tumble is a family friend. She’d got so into junk modelling, I’d taken to pilfering yogurt pots and toilet rolls from my neighbours recycling under cover of darkness to satisfy her dirty habit. We’d got cabin fever and it was unquestionably time to leave the house.
So toddler group it was. After only 2 attempts, I managed to shoe the toddler, and with a bag large enough to contain an Alsatian, we left. She was excited about toddler group. She even got into the car seat without a fight. I was mother of the year. Toddler group was in full swing when we arrived. The baby was happily sleeping in his car seat, I popped him down on the floor next to a Mum I sort of know, and I ran after the Toddler, excited at the prospect of some mummy-toddler time.
There were songs, we Wound The Bobbin, we Twinkle Twinkled, we revelled in the glory of Old MacDonald and his varied livestock. Then the playgroup DJ dropped some seriously phat beats, it was the Hokey-Cokey, the pre-school crowd went wild! Our left legs were in and out as often as Katie Price’s breast implants. Our right arms are shaking it all about like there was no tomorrow. We were reaching the climax, the Diva really did think that that’s what it was all about. She was throwing herself around so violently that I was momentarily concerned that she was having a seizure. But the look of utter joy on her face was priceless. It was the happiest she’d been since her brother invaded her otherwise delightful life.
I jump to “put my whole self in”, and it happened. I completely voided my bladder. How do you style this out? My mind was racing……..I was looking round, I was hoping no one has noticed the puddle on the floor. I was wearing a black skirt, I might get away with it, I grabbed the toddler under one arm, shouting theatrically about how important it is to tell mummy when you need a wee, I loudly told her not to worry, it was just an accident, it happens to the best of us. I hoped no-one noticed her nappy peeking out the top of her skirt, and we run. Full pelt to the toilet. I did my best, but I was damp. We sheepishly returned to the group to discover some helpful and well meaning mum has cleaned up my wee for me, imagining it to belong to my toddler. We grabbed the baby and we left.
And like a dickhead, I still haven’t done my pelvic floor exercises.