"Superman" = onesie buttoned on the outside of the pants.
"Peter-pan" = pants tucked into socks.
"Butt-sprout" = small pooh.
"Poonami" = enough pooh to destroy a small village, requiring a full change for both mother and child and wiping down of furniture.
"Throwing a party" = child wakes in the middle of the night, happy as a birthday boy and ready to start the day.
"Doing the Dishes" = child is so upset that bottom lip protrudes like a dish drawer. The dishes are truly done when crying ensues, revealing the porcelin.
Please feel free to add your own family jargon.
Friday, 30 September 2011
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Welcome me to motherhood...I'm well and truly yours.
For the past month, I have been busy becoming a cliche.
I visit the mall for coffee, with other baby-bound girlfriends, twice a week. We debrief on men, monotony and other unpleasantries of motherhood. Mall coffee is shit, but the conversation is orgasmic...mainly because it's conversation.
We meet twice a week because we actually have enough to bitch about to warrant this? Tick! Add that to the ciche making characteristics.
I bitch about my weight. All three of said friends have given birth in the past 4 months and yet the only thing on their bodies that competes with my fat collection is their milk-laden breasts. They claim I have body dismorphic disorder. I think they do. Who could miss this stomach!? The jowels? The upper thighs that I now call "labia mega majora"?
I have developed an eating disorder. I can't stop myself. My definition of one peppermint tim tam is one packet! So comfort eating finds its place on the cliche checklist.
I spent $190 on herbal remedies, so my pantry now looks like a 50 year old divorced woman's chasing youth and a rich 90 year old. Multi-vitamins for the husband; to cure his persitent man-flu. Central Nervous System tonic
to cure baby's cerebral palsy...it contains catnip??? Dubious. Magical seaweed and berry mix to cure my food addiction. Eutherol throat elixir to cure effects of smoking addiction. Emphysemol Lung elixir for the same. I'm pretty sure I bought cigarettes on the same shopping expedition. Flax seed oil and spirulina, because they apparently cure everything.
Ridiculous spending habits - another tick for the list. Although I can see why this finds its way on to every mother's list as we get no self-gratification from work and shop assistants always thank us for what we've just done for their business.
Boredom and worthlessness - tick! - I've taken on an unpaid, part time job for charity.
Depression...although I have to say that the black dog wouldn't have come in if I hadn't opened the door and teased it with biscuits, but I just had to see if I could get to that place despite the anti-depressants. However, the black dog swiftly left after discovering the biscuit was the last one left in the packet.
Bitching at my husband about quitting his job because it doesn't make enough money, keeps him away weekends and has just demolished the one thing I had to look forward to all year - our end of year holiday.
Creating distractions. Some women plan facials, I had this one holiday plan and now it's obliterated. Hence the depression.
The things about my life that spit in the face of the cliche:
1 I am just about to receive a disability parking sticker, so my carpark will kick arse on all your 4-wheel drive mummy machines!
2 I never compete at mothers' coffee groups - I know my child already lost.
3 My baby now reaches out for me and only me. It makes me feel like a million dollars and not just because every mother feels that way, but because we were told he would never know who we are.
My love and admiration to all the mothers out there, every shape, size and situation. xx
I visit the mall for coffee, with other baby-bound girlfriends, twice a week. We debrief on men, monotony and other unpleasantries of motherhood. Mall coffee is shit, but the conversation is orgasmic...mainly because it's conversation.
We meet twice a week because we actually have enough to bitch about to warrant this? Tick! Add that to the ciche making characteristics.
I bitch about my weight. All three of said friends have given birth in the past 4 months and yet the only thing on their bodies that competes with my fat collection is their milk-laden breasts. They claim I have body dismorphic disorder. I think they do. Who could miss this stomach!? The jowels? The upper thighs that I now call "labia mega majora"?
I have developed an eating disorder. I can't stop myself. My definition of one peppermint tim tam is one packet! So comfort eating finds its place on the cliche checklist.
I spent $190 on herbal remedies, so my pantry now looks like a 50 year old divorced woman's chasing youth and a rich 90 year old. Multi-vitamins for the husband; to cure his persitent man-flu. Central Nervous System tonic
to cure baby's cerebral palsy...it contains catnip??? Dubious. Magical seaweed and berry mix to cure my food addiction. Eutherol throat elixir to cure effects of smoking addiction. Emphysemol Lung elixir for the same. I'm pretty sure I bought cigarettes on the same shopping expedition. Flax seed oil and spirulina, because they apparently cure everything.
Ridiculous spending habits - another tick for the list. Although I can see why this finds its way on to every mother's list as we get no self-gratification from work and shop assistants always thank us for what we've just done for their business.
Boredom and worthlessness - tick! - I've taken on an unpaid, part time job for charity.
Depression...although I have to say that the black dog wouldn't have come in if I hadn't opened the door and teased it with biscuits, but I just had to see if I could get to that place despite the anti-depressants. However, the black dog swiftly left after discovering the biscuit was the last one left in the packet.
Bitching at my husband about quitting his job because it doesn't make enough money, keeps him away weekends and has just demolished the one thing I had to look forward to all year - our end of year holiday.
Creating distractions. Some women plan facials, I had this one holiday plan and now it's obliterated. Hence the depression.
The things about my life that spit in the face of the cliche:
1 I am just about to receive a disability parking sticker, so my carpark will kick arse on all your 4-wheel drive mummy machines!
2 I never compete at mothers' coffee groups - I know my child already lost.
3 My baby now reaches out for me and only me. It makes me feel like a million dollars and not just because every mother feels that way, but because we were told he would never know who we are.
My love and admiration to all the mothers out there, every shape, size and situation. xx
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