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!