Author: McPikelets
It’s a look.
Experimenting with a new eyeshadow set whilst jiggling a baby netted interesting results. Granted it did provide an updated look, but it’s less “fresh New York chic” and more “girl who drank too much tequila and was woken up by the cleaners in the nightclub toilets at 6am”.
Cheese
“Daddy, I don’t want cannibal cheese in my sandwich.” Yeah, I’m more of a Brie girl over Camembert myself.
Hand. Me. A. Drink.
In hindsight, electing to toilet train during a period of my life when excessive consumption of alcohol is frowned upon by the medical community was a flawed and ill-thought-through manoeuvre.
Snitch.
Amy’s greeting upon her grandmother’s arrival today: “Thank god you’re here! I’m REALLY hungry!” The Authorities Will Be Notified.
Skinny jeans are a mere good night’s sleep away
Suggested posts containing helpful tips about post-baby weight loss keep popping up in my newsfeed. Yes, yes, yes, Facebook universe, I get the point that I need to exercise and stop eating family-sized blocks of chocolate (unless I want to remain family-sized myself). My favourite weight-loss top-tip for new mothers is the one that says “get a good sleep every night,” Righto. Sorry, Tilly, but Mummy can’t get up and feed you tonight…she needs a full eight hours so she can fit her skinny jeans in the morning (the ones she bought after a nasty bout of food-poisoning, that, while violently horrifying at the time, was good for a few kilos).
Exercise enthusiasm
Sportiness has never been my forte. I spent many a high school P.E. class hiding in the toilets. So, when I started feeling excited about the concept of post-pregnancy exercising, it was a disturbingly unfamiliar state. “A yummy mummy fitness course!” I exclaimed. “I’ll run the half marathon in November!” I enthused. I’ve since realised that what I’m visualising is poncing about in Lululemon workout gear, sipping a concoction fresh from the juicer, cracking walnuts on my taut bum as a party trick, and talking about how amazing all the exercise endorphins are making me feel. I don’t want to do the actual exercising bit. Also, I’ve never even been into a Lululemon store, my juicer has been slowly gathering dust since my last foray into fitness (circa ‘08 and ’09, when I started making monthly donations to a gym and stopped eating solids for a while in anticipation of fitting into a slinky wedding dress), I prefer Brazil nuts to walnuts, and I’m quite happy with the endorphin-esque buzz found at the bottom of …
Balsamic on the baby
Sleeping babies have an innate sense for when their mum is sitting down for dinner. I’m glad that feeding is going well and all, but I’d love to have at least 3 out of 5 meals without feeling like a naturist. On the flip side, you find yourself saying sentences you’d never imagined, such as yesterday evening’s “oh shit! I’ve dripped balsamic on the baby!”
Flattery
“Mummy can you read me another story?” “What do you say, Amy?” “Ummmmm…Mummy you’re awesome?” I was angling for “please”, but I’ll take it.
Just Like Giselle
Early-morning multitasking. This is JUST like the multitasking photo that supermodel Giselle posted. Except that she where she was multitasking breast feeding with having her hair, makeup and nails done for her in preparation for a modelling shoot, I’m multitasking breastfeeding with coaxing Weetbix into a reluctant toddler and managing the emotional needs of a displaced Siamese in preparation for a heady day of hitting the playground and supermarket. Also I’m pretty sure Giselle didn’t have sick on her shoulder in her photo. Other than that, this is JUST the same.
McPikelets 