Dear Me, pre-motherhood, when my arse didn’t require its own postcode

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 the mancub.

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 the mancub 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,

2017-me.

 

27 thoughts on “Dear Me, pre-motherhood, when my arse didn’t require its own postcode

  1. Absolutely brilliant! Thanks for cheering me up today. It’s so true when you think back to all the worry and angst about not being able to have kids and then once they are here you wish you could go back and tell your old self to just enjoy every day, it will happen eventually. Enjoy the lie ins, the peace and quiet. Holiday all year and go on dates every weekend. Love your amazing body. Haha xx

  2. I love this post, it’s really made me smile. I never understand why people tell you the pain goes as soon as your child is born? It really doesn’t. I wish I had had a letter like this to read before I had kids. Thanks for linking up to #BlogCrush xx

  3. Aw man I wish I had a letter like this when I was my old self, would have helped and made me laugh. This part made me laugh “kick them hard, they fucking lie” so TRUE, why don’t people just speak the truth?! Thanks for sharing with #StayClassyMama I love your honesty!

  4. Hahah I love this. “you start using the C word as a term of endearment” I have done the same with my other half. Your honesty and jokes have made me smile on my shitty train ride to work at 6am! Thanks so much for sharing with #StayClassyMama!

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