I am not and never will be a yummy mummy. On many levels I would very much like to be, however I wasn’t particularly yummy before the children so it would be foolish to imagine this would improve now. I am rotund in stature, it would be nice to say I have a “mummy tummy” but alas, it is more of a cheese, cake and cider tummy. In many ways the children drive me to gorge myself on such items (that’s my excuse anyway) and I can often be found with my head in a cupboard snaffling down a hobnob in desperation while they hit each other with Barbies.
If things don’t improve I will have to start sporting one of those large house coat type muu muu’s that the monsterously overweight in mobility vehicles wear. Brushing my hair usually exceeds the time my toddler has allocated to my personal grooming, and disobeying him is likely to cause some kind of catastrophe that only half a pack of chocolate digestives could remedy.
So this begs the question, how on earth do they do it? I’m sure if I were to look closely I would see the snot trails, but I am too dazzled by the fact that they have applied make up and are wearing a heeled shoe to try. I wonder if they get up before the kids to get ready, I don’t really want to get up at 5.30 to put some make up on though. I wonder if their children, are not tiny little dictators, and quietly watch peppa pig while they do their blusher. Last time I tried to apply make up in my toddlers company, he ran into me at breakneck speed so I poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand and went blind for about 10 minutes.
These elegant creatures often wear white (I haven’t dared wear even a white top since the hulk started moving.) I have even spotted them in a white trouser, this would be sartorial suicide in my house. They manage to wear skinny jeans without looking like their legs are made entirely of sausages, they often have highlights or other hairstyles which involve regular maintenance. They wear make up every day, not just for work or the annual evening out. They have an excercise regime (and by this I mean proper organised excercise, not just running around after forest gump escapee children) but more importantly they generally have poise and grace and appear effortless with their children – not publicly shouting at them like an old fishwife every five minutes.
Essentially I’m jealous. Many of my friends fall into the yummy mummy camp and I regularly wish I was them. I never will be, so I must accept the scummy mummy that I am. Thankfully the diva has generously put some blue paint in my hair which apparently looks very pretty, and the wayward toddler has put a rather delightful bean juice handprint on the back of my left thigh. I’m rocking a strong look, now let me at those yummy mummies so I can totally ruin their street cred.
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