Category Archives: Mummies

Mothersucker…

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Ok so this might be a subject that I can’t really comment on as I have no experience in the matter. Also, I know that everyone has a view on it.

Breastfeeding…

One thing that I do not dispute is that breast is best (if you can do it) and I have every admiration for women that feed their children this way, I just couldn’t breast feed for medical reasons.

However when opening one of my sisters delightful magazines (comic would probably be a better description), my stomach twisted in the image that was displayed in front of me.

A woman breastfeeding her teenage son.

I know that everyone has their views. And there may be some that feel that this is totally acceptable, but for me seeing a young adolescent sucking on his mother’s tit was not and would never be appropriate. Above all why did she feel the need to sell her story to a magazine? How the hell will this poor kid ever live a normal life again? He will be forever known as a complete “mothersucker” or “Milky Bra Kid”.

Even worse, the woman also feeds her husband this way with the argument that the breast milk prevents cancer. Ok, so this might be the case (I’ve not looked into the research). But as one of my friends pointed out – if she has to do it, why not serve it up in a cup (porcelain, not underwired)?

This is just not an image I’m going to be able to shake off quickly….And I’m only just getting over Jimmy Saville…..

Yummy Mummies Hunt in Packs..

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Mandi/Parola Panty Bag - Yummy Mummy by bambina bambina

a photo by bambina bambina on Flickr.

Well I did it today, I entered the world of the Yummy Mummies – and Jesus, I hated it. Every single bloody second.

The venue was a local toddler group, where I know my babies would be able to play happily for a while. But, I also knew that it contained that species of woman that I tended to avoid out of fear and envy. And today they were there – in a pack.

The baby room was fine, I settled my dribbling son (currently averaging 15 dribble bibs a day) and felt fairly relaxed. My daughter was also happy enough, careering up and down on a little car in the toddler room – singing Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds at the top of her voice (her current favourite).

I was that relaxed in fact that I felt brave enough to venture into the kitchen to grab a cuppa…

Of course, My radar should have been on. I should have known they were there. That small clique of perfectly preened women with designer clothes and not a hair out of place, taking up nearly every square inch of the small kitchen.

Even worse, they were pregnant…

Why was it that, when I was pregnant, I looked and felt like complete s**t. I mean, honestly, people used to look at me with pity. My hair was always greasy, my skin dull, and pregnancy clothes just made me look shapeless and frumpy.

These women looked like the ones you see in the magazines that I avoided throughout my 9 months of hell. They were glowing so much I was surprised British Gas hadn’t harnessed an electrify supply off of them.

Even worse, when I eased myself into the room – they stopped their conversation and did that “eye up and down” thing that women in packs do. I felt like a smelly reptile that had just wandered into the pack.

I smiled sweetly and squeezed myself into the corner, where a similar meek looking woman was making coffee. We exchanged pitying glances and breathed inward sighs of relief when their conversation resumed without us.

And the conversation itself? Well it was about the varying sizes of their expanding cervixes. I was looking at my soggy teabag and starting to feel quite nauseous.

My hell was put to end when my daughter charged in and declared “Mummy I need a poo!”

Well, at least she didn’t say s**t!