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We have a new Prince - hurrah!! The whole country celebrated at the birth of such a precious little baby and crowds surrounded the hospital for days for a first glimpse at our new future King. Who can blame the Duchess of Cambridge for wanting to look her best in front of the world's media? So the day after she spent hours in painful childbirth - one of the most traumatic "natural" (yeah right) experiences that her body will probably ever go through - she emerges on the steps of the hospital with a healthy tanned glow, perfectly blow dried hair, naturally beautiful makeup, white teeth and a pretty dress (obviously well thought out as it was reminiscent of the dress that Diana wore when she emerged from the same hospital carrying Prince William). With her delighted smile she happily waved to the crowd and pregnant women everywhere probably thought "ahhh I hope I look like that when I head home with my new-born."
HA!!! Think again.
Kate (and the celebrities that you see in size 6 jeans two weeks after giving birth) have a team of make-up artists, hair dressers, stylists, personal trainers, chefs and dieticians to help them to regain and retain perfection. Not to mention their cleaners, personal assistants, chauffeurs and secretaries to organise their lives and keep their houses in order. We "normal" (she uses the term loosely) Mammies have to be all of these things ourselves, when we have a tiny little person (or people) to put first and who take up 99.9% of our time.
When I left hospital (both times) I think I resembled a woolly mammoth. With the first Gremlin coming early, I didn't get the chance to have my bikini wax, and with the second Gremlin being so big no one could find where to wax never mind reach it. Blindfolded you wouldn't know the difference between my legs and Dad's and I had to shampoo under my arms. I looked - and felt - like I'd been hit by a bus. Twice. I was so pale I'd disappear into my bed sheets, and you could only tell where I was by the smell of my breath as I didn't have the energy to lift my arm to brush my teeth. My belly had deflated, I felt like my torso had collapsed internally and if you poked me in it your finger would be sucked into the abyss of saggy skin. The only item of clothing I planned was my giant specially-purchased granny pants.
Things improved after about a week when the milk started to fill up my bosoms and I looked like Pamela Anderson. They were so big and round I could rest my chin on them and my cup between them. Dad thought he'd won the booby lottery; but he was mortified and devastated when they were too sore to touch and I'd karate kick him if he came within three feet.
Then the boobies disappeared and my previously pert impressive E cups began to resemble two golf balls in a carrier bag. Or "spaniel's ears" as Dad tends to refer to them. Or water bombs. They're still big, but they're now heading for my belly button. That same belly button is now heading towards my lady garden and is surrounded by a sea of silvery stretch marks. When Owen asked what the lines were on my belly, Dad told him I'd been attacked by a tiger. Obviously I won the fight, so now Owen thinks I'm really hard. My muffin top spillover has become a permanent fixture and clingy clothes have become a thing of the past. My bottom has dropped and sits on my thighs - I know this because when I get a spray tan I have white half moons under my cheeks. At the first sight of sun all the fluid in my body drops to my feet, and like a puffer fish, they super inflate. When my feet swell you can't tell what's leg and what's foot and Dad says my toes look like mini sausage rolls. I will never be able to jump on a trampoline again - unless I'm catheterised. And if I need the toilet and sneeze.....game over.
So once the spaniel's ears are safely in their hammock, and the muffin top is tucked into my knickers along with my Tena lady, under my baggy clothes and with my flat comfortable shoes on...Once I've sprayed my hair with dry shampoo for the fourth day in a row, and sat my kids in front of Pepper Pig (or listened to them try to kill each other) whilst I apply make-up to hide the black saddlebags under my eyes, then sprayed perfume on to hide the scent of nappies...You can guarantee that before I reach the bedroom door, somewhere on my body or clothing, I will be smudged, dribbled or splatted in either wee, poo, sick, dribble, snot or food. Or all six. Or I'll sneeze and have to change my pants. Or my husband will find it amusing to stick sanitary towels to my back and then send me off to work.
So pregnant women or those planning children - do not be fooled by Heidi Klum's washboard abs or Katie Price's gravity-defying mammaries. Without a personal trainer, team of stylists and plastic surgeon, you too will find that your stomach resembles a zebra and everything heads either East or West, swells or falls out.
Though I actually feel a bit sorry for Kate and other new mothers in the public eye. Every pound of weight, item of uncomfortable clothing and hair on their blow-dried heads will be under the microscope of every celebrity magazine. Within 24 hours, the media began to speculate how long it would take Kate to lose her baby weight and be back in her size 6 Zara dresses. At least the only person that I have to suck my belly in for is Dad and he wouldn't dare comment on the size of my pants unless he wants me to cut the crotch out of his.
I wish Kate had walked out of hospital in a onesie with sweat still in her hair and eyes half-open rubbing her sore fairy area like she probably wanted to do. Looking glamorous when you have babies or young children takes a great deal of effort, energy and time management. I know I've achieved something great when Dad hugs me and says "mmmm you don't smell like me today love."
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