Dear Me, pre-motherhood, AKA 2013-me.
You may not believe this but in four years time you will be a mum to a
little shit boisterous free-spirited two year old mancub you named William.
Crazy right – they’ve just told you that you can’t conceive naturally, that you don’t ovulate.
Complete bollocks my love, don’t believe it.
In February 2014, all it will take is a drunken night of naughtiness and a renegade egg(of the ovarian kind, not scrambled) and all your heartache will be over.
In November 2014 you will give birth to a nine pound hunk of chunk.
You will nearly die; it will hurt like hell. People will tell you the pain goes away and you will forget.
Kick them hard; they fucking lie.
2013-me will think you are fat and repulsive.
Wait until you see the 2017 post-baby you.
You are about three stone heavier, your tits sag so bad your nipples graze the tarmac when you walk, and your stomach resembles a tube map.
It doesn’t bother you deep down, you had a baby and you will just blame it on baby weight.
Probably until William is 32.
Remember how you looked at other parents who swore at their children and said how disgusted you were and you would never do that?
Don’t be such a dick, 2013-me, you have no idea. You now know it’s okay to lose your shit and you swear more now than ever before.
The c-bomb used to offend you. You now use it as a term of endearment.
(For your husband I will add, not your child, that’s not cool).
Pre-motherhood me wanted to go on holidays, travel the world, and own something from Tiffanys.
Now you are quite content with a trip to Tesco and a half-chewed sausage for a present.
Jokes aside, 2013-me, you have no idea what life will bring.
In 2014 you fall pregnant and have a baby.
In 2015 you turn 30 and get married.
In 2016 you lose a lot of weight.
In 2017 you put most of it back on.
My advice for you, 2013-me?
Enjoy life, please don’t worry, life your life – it’s too short.
And start saving for the tummy tuck and boob lift you will need in 2018, part time wages are shit.
Lots of love,