Three years ago I signed up with Voxy to write travel stories. Ha, two and a half years and two kids later - there ain' t much travel been going on. So breaking with convention I have decided to write about whats going on in my life - that is being an 'un-yummy mummy'.
My toddler wakes up at 4am one morning. "Thomas, I lost Thomas" he cries.
"Its 4 oclock in the morning," I scream. "Who cares about Thomas!" But he is distraught. His little blue train has fallen out of his hands in the night and probably done itself an injury somewhere. I have to drop down to my hands and knees and fossick beneath his bed. Burried beneath a pile of feathers (obviously the duvet has a hole in it) is a festering bottle that would have once had milk in it, a dried sandwhich, some smashed up crayons, my partners drill bits (missing for at least six weeks) a couple of choclate biscuits (stashed for later no doubt) and Thomas. I fumble around, retreive the train and give it back to my sobbing boy. With a sigh of relief I turn to go back to bed. Suddenly he says:
"Mum, where's dinosaur?".
I growl, a phenomea I never knew I was capable of until about six months ago and slam the door. It wakes the baby who begins to howl. Now Dads up demanding to know why I am slamming doors at 4.30am.
Fast forward to 8.30am, its raining again (awesome summer this year) time to take Dad to work. Which means I have 40 minutes to kill with the kids until coffee group starts. I drive around the carpark a few times, go through the McDonalds drive through. I dont actually want anything, Im just filling in time. I order a cup of water. Im too tired to care what they think of me. They ask me f I want fries with that. As they pass it over, I knock it with my fingers and water splashes down my front, little peices of ice pelt down into my maternity top. I realise I have forgotten to brush my teeth that morning.
Coffee group is as usual. This kid rolled this many times and that kids poopy had raisins in it. I listen in silence as my baby begins to fuss. I realise in horror that I am going to have to breast feed in public. Breast feeding is not my forte, I begin to panic. I fiddle with the latches of my maternity top and try to extract a boob, but nothing is budging. I fumble even more. People are beginning to look at my big jerky movements. Why cant I get my boobs out? I put the baby down and stand up. Now everybody is staring - but I will not be thwarted, I thrust my hand deep down my top and then it dawns on me. I had dressed that morning bleary eyed, and hurrying I had put my maternity top on backwards. The boob part was protruding through the back of my shirt - and eventhough it was quite obvious and visable NOBODY HAD TOLD ME!
So if you were wondering why I call my blog ' the un-yummy mummy diaries' you can now see. I must be the only mummy in New Zealand to have noticeable boobs on their back!
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