10 Things That Happen When You Become A Mom

Today I went out in (fat) pants with the label still hanging out, flopping merrily against my bum for the better part of a morning. It’s not a thing anymore really, most days I look like I’ve been pulled off a People Of Walmart website. Looking like shit? Yep, you’re a mom. So, if you happen to be thinking about starting a family, then for the sake of full disclosure, it’s only fair that I share with you the 10 things that will definitely happen when you become a mom.

You will never look (that) good, ever again. Sure, makeup covers a multitude of sins, but there isn’t enough Clarins in the world for an exhausted sleep deprived face, toasted cheese sarmie thighs and “fuckit I’m having another glass of wine” bloat. I’m currently day 3 into a no sugar and no carb challenge, so whilst I may look less puffy, I’m about as happy as Donald Trumps campaign manager and about to cut the next carbohydrate eating person I see. So, mom in prison, or fat mom – pick your battle.

You will forget to how to English. This has been my worst. I used to be able to banter wittily until the cows came home. I could smash your funny retort with my own, and sarcasm spilled out of me like my 36D’s out my pre baby bra. Alas, with the expelling of the fetus, came the expelling of the use of the English language. Sure, I can ‘coochie coo’ my child into a smile, but ask me about anything related to the outside world and I begin to mimic a newborn: gummy grimaces and tears.

You will resent most people. That doos who parked too close to your car door, again. The lady dawdling in the mall when your child is mid-poonami and she’s blocking your way to the changing rooms. Childless people who tell you how busy they are. Childless people who look attractive. Even worse, mothers who look attractive. Anyone thin. Any baby proof cap, because which retarded medicine cap maker decided that it would be a good idea to make opening the lid the equivalent of getting in to Mensa, knowing full well a mother would have less than two and a half fingers and half the amount of living brain cells available when said medicine was needed. (Not pointing fingers here, but I’m talking to you, Calpol).

You will count down the seconds to nap time. So you can do the dishes, wash the bottles, prep the formula, shave your legs, play with the dogs, go to gym, eat some food, brush your hair, shave your pits, make some dinner, buy some groceries, catch-up on work, write a blog, clean the house, fold the washing and remove that bloody clothes tag from your fat pants. Then, to make matters worse, because we are so stupid from lack of sleep and too much wine, we choose rather to watch our darling baby sleep instead of actually doing anything on the above mentioned list.

You will mourn your life. And that’s OK. Because it’s fleeting and normal and you get over it. Plus, leaving the house without the baby is so much more rewarding when you’ve spent three weeks and a million bribes finding someone to babysit.

You will never be clean. Sure, you go through the motions of showering and brushing your teeth (the front visible ones, molars take too much time) but you are never really fresh. You will always be covered in something baby related. Poo, vomit, food. Did you ever watch The Walking Dead, when the characters had to cover themselves in dead zombie juice in order to mingle with the Walkers? I’m almost certain this is why babys stop crying when placed in their mothers arms – because they can’t smell the fear through the fecal matter covering moms frock.

You will have no money. Because babies are expensive, and apparently it’s not OK to water down their formula with Vodka. Just last week we did a reccie of Carters potential crèche. I left in tears. Partly due to the fact that I am in no way ready to leave him and go to work, and party because the cost of the school fees had me enquiring about egg donation and selling an organ.

You will feel guilty about everything. You will doubt yourself as a mom, as a wife, as a functioning member of society (although, to be fair, at times I am so mentally dumb that feel its better to put a bullet in my brain and call it a day). You will feel bad that you have to turn a lot of social outings down, that you cannot physically cook a gourmet meal every night and that your gym membership is on the cusp of extinction. It’s OK. There will come a time when the haze of baby-dom has cleared and you can make your way back in to the world, slightly battered ad bruised, but stronger because of it.

You will never stop worrying. Nope, not for another second. You can kiss that sleep goodbye friends – because not a day will pass when your child doesn’t consume your every thought. If you happen to be in a good not-worrying-about-baby-mood though, then once glimpse of your naked body in the mirror will quickly bring you back. Cellulite in my arms? Superb.

So yes, you may be fat, broke and smell like a turd. But you’re keeping a human alive, and that’s pretty much the greatest job on earth.

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A Blog A Day Challenge – Something For Your Kids To Know – Day 6

Husband and I have been talking about having kids (not now, calm down mom). It’s the next step, I’m helluva broody and I think we will make damn good parents.

I grew up right. More than right. My brother and I said please and thank you for everything. So much so, that when I moved to America in 2002 as an exchange student, I lived for a brief period of time with a lady from the local Rotary Club. On my 3rd morning there she took me grocery shopping. After about 5 minutes of cruising the aisles, seeking vegetarian food in a cluster of pop-tarts and Big Jim turkey dinners,  she turned to me and said ‘You really don’t need to say please after every thing I ask you – they’re just apples”. The thing is, I will still say please and thank you – and yes, for something as small as ‘dem apples’. 

I’m deliberately choosing to change the topic of today’s blog to ‘Something I want to teach my (future) children.’ After all, the more kids I see on television raping, pillaging, murdering and taking selfies, the more I feel the need to instill what my parents did in me. 

1. Be polite. 

2. Be kind.

3. Learn to love what you have and don’t rely on the superficial things. (We loved in the garden, my brother and I, except between 5 and 7 when MNET had ‘Open Time’ on for us po’ folk.)

4. Know the difference between right and wrong. I call ‘bullshit’ on anyone defending a child over the age of 5 for doing something morally wrong. Why? Because they are old enough to know better. 

5. Be kind to everyone you meet. That extends to animals.

6. Respect others and their property

7. Hidings will not kill you. I promise

8. Work for your money**. Appreciate anything that has been given to you free of charge.

9. Eat nutritious and healthy meals

10. Read a damn book. Learn. Knowledge is key. 

**So I was about 5 years old and my father asked me to clean the chicken coops and horse stables (I grew up on a plot). It took me several hours and was honestly back breaking work. Afterwards, he handed me a R2 coin (thanks, dad). I was absolutely gutted. So kids, work hard for your money but don’t let them old folk walk right over you.

 

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