You should have army training before you enter motherhood because there are so many wars. Sleep wars, feeding wars, getting dressed wars, teething wars. The list could go on.
I reckon I would be at leuitenant ranking by now after all the battles I have been through.
The current one I am going through is a body battle. This one seems to be neverending.
Some days I am winning and with plates adorned with avocado, asparagus, kale and the tears of Gwyneth Paltrow, I am fighting fit, going to the gym. Feeling like I am heading in the right direction for the pre baby pile of clothes, I daren’t touch.
The next day I am face planting into a tiger loaf and eating my childs leftovers as well as my dinner and proclaiming “I don’t bloody care what I look like anymore”
I just can’t win. Though I am not entirely sure what exactly what I am fighting for because I am 35 and I basically pooped out my metabolism when I turned 30. I also carried a sideways baby who left their house via the roof, so am now fashioning a rather Naff Naff style c section bumbag.
Maybe I should just hold up my white flag and surrender.