Motherhood really is the epitome of glamour. At least, Posh Spice would have you believe so. The woman wears Gucci to Coles, for Chrissake. And sometimes, I would have you believe it also.
But let me tell you, the reality can be (and is) somewhat different. I wear Cotton On to Coles, for starters. On a good day. Sometimes, I'm not even that glam!
Yes folks, motherhood aint no Vogue covergirl. Case in point. Over the weekend, the fam and I decided to take a little road trip up the mountain to buy a box of herbs to plant in the garden. A simple task, I thought.
But when we got just far enough from home that it was past the point of return, Fern did a car-poo. I knew immediately that she'd done it, and despite it being about 3 degrees and raining, I opened all the windows. Then we stopped the car. Got out in the rain. Opened the boot and deposited Fern inside. Peeled off her tights. And Oh.My.God. A blow-out of epic proportions.
Fern is 20 months old, and we're long past the point of packing auxiliary outfits. So we did the best we could. Used every wipe we had, and eventually bundled her back in the car. Naked from the waist down. Nice.
We got to the nursery. Got out of the car, and carried poor pant-less Fern inside. The baby started screaming. I went back to the car and got my nipples out. Afterward, I rested boy-o on my lap for a second while I readjusted my bra.
And then it happened. A projectile vomit. I watched it in slow motion, as it raised from my lap up and over my shoulder, depositing itself on its journey inside the neck of my shirt and inside my bra. I mean, there was that much baby-vomit inside my shirt I needed a spade to hoist it out.
And that's the reality of motherhood, really.
Tears at 2am.
Food all over the floor.
And the suede lounge.
And love. Don't forget the love.
I want to tell it like it is, because there are a lot of smoke and mirrors about motherhood! People often ask me, "how do you manage to have kids AND keep a blog?" or "How do you find time for all that crafting?" or "wow, you make it all look so easy and your house is so tidy!" But its all a facade, my friends. I am a master at the art of cover up. And finicky enough to obsess about tidiness when my eyeballs are screaming for sleep and it's 10am and I havn't even had a shower yet.
And, while I love my full time job at home there are days (like yesterday!) where I find myself in a tearful heap with a newborn baby and toddler both screaming and draped over me - no idea about dinner, no milk in the fridge staring at 18 loads of washing in various states of wet/dry/dirty piled on every surface wishing to god I was anywhere else but there right at that moment.
Why am I telling you this? Because today I want to dispel the motherly myth of perfection. Nobody is perfect, my friends... but some are better at hiding it than others! And, if you ever find yourself marvelling at somebody elses life and their seeming ease at keeping it together, know that they too probably have a laundry full of dirty washing awaiting attention whilst they browse the latest online Oobi catalogue and blog their picks for the new season.
Celebrate your imperfection, dear friends -- you are not alone! xo