WHATS NEW WITH TWO
Frey Frey. Our littlest bald headed beauty is the big nine months this week. Eep. And Mini. Our biggest beauty. She's getting closer and closer to 2.5. Firstly. HECK. Feck. Where did the time go. SECONDLY. Ermagawd. Like ermagawd.
I may no longer have two under two but has it got any easier? Heck no. I think I've just adjusted. Phew.
Have I recovered from pregnancy? A little. Has my body? Not so much. Let's just say it has 'evolved'. Ha. And life in general? That's changed. A heck of a lot. Here is s snapshot of what's new.
Ouch. Nine months on... I still have a hemorrhoid the size of Mount Vesuvius. I call him Harold. Circa 90's Neighbours Harold. You know the guy. A total pain in the ass. Literally.
Belly Ass Hips and Thighs. I've got 'mum couch'. It's like the mum pouch everyone else complains about. You know. That little 'mum tum'. But mine is more a four seater corner couch on the front. And a recliner on each side. Plus a few bean bags on my ass. Dang it.
Poop. I haven't shat in peace since Mabel was born 2.3 years ago. Little people just seem to gravitate towards you when it's crap-o'clock. Seriously. Either they cry and bang on the door. Or just come on in and have a chat. And a peep. At your poop. Even if I did have ever have a private moment... Harold would still be there. Hanging out. Eww. Ugh. Ouch.
Sleep. Oh glorious sleep. She is a distant memory. I think it is super awesome if I get a solid two hour block in a row. Woot woot raise the mother-beepin-roof I gots me some sleep. Let's paarrtaaaeeee. Not.
Drinks. I am adddddicted to coffee. Lots of lovely-warm-happy-place coffee. And booze. No more. Phhfff. I don't drink now even though I really need too. A few wine spritzers combined with no sleep. It's all too hard. And results in a hangover. Even if I only have one drink. What's with that. Bugger.
Nanna Knickers. You know how everyone has a 'little black dress' as a staple in their wardrobe. Well I have 'big-ass-black-cotton-hella-ugly-nanna-knickers' as a staple in mine. Eight pairs actually. I started wearing them when I was pregnant with Mini. And now they have taken up residence. They are here to stay. And are mostly 'weather beaten'. Been around the block. Not literally. But they are in dire need of being thrown out. I totally freak out if they are all strangely in the wash at one time. It happens. Even though I seem to do washing erry-dang-day.
Linger-nay. Speaking of knickers. My bras. I used to wear matching tops and bottoms. Commonly known as 'Lingerie'. A little bit of lace. A little bit of colour. A little bit of oh-la-la. Not stripper-hooker-oh-ah. Just a little bit nice. And always a matching set. Now. They match. They are both black. And both ugly. And both worn to death. I wear a black sports bra erryday. Actually it's more of a crop-sports-no-clasp-clips-bits-top thing. No support. No back hook. No sexy time either. Sigh. They actually squish my once pert-but-small-ladies into little itty bitty pancakes. Poor Mr Perfect.
Swearing. I actually swear more now than ever. Some days I think I'm channeling a truck driver doing those long haul shitty drives across the outback in a worn out wife beater and King Gee stubbies swearing and sweating like a bad ass boss.
Hide and Go Seek. Well it's mostly hide. And not much seek. I hide from my kids. I know it's wrong. But sometimes I need a sweet few glorious seconds of silence without two babes all up in my grill. They always find me. Always. They are like homing pigeons.
Outfits. I still wear active wear. Most days. With absolutely no intention of ever working out. Nup. And everything else is oversized. Sometimes I still wear 'maternity wear'. Tees. Jumpers. Singlets. And yes. Occasionally jeans. Everything must be strategically baggy. Although I did squeeze myself into non-maternity skinny jeans once. I felt like a honey baked ham. With mega muffin tops. And I walked like a robot. Could. Not. Bend. My. Knees. A robot in jeggings that were actually just jeans. Ugh.
Outings. Heck. Everything is hard with two. It can takes us a good hour to get ourselves sorted and out of the house. And by the time we get to our destination... mostly Kmart or Target. Because it's where you don't feel like absolute shizzle if your kids loose their shizzle fo nizzle. It's the safe zone for parents living the dream. Anyway, generally we get a good five minutes of shopping in before one or the other poos-pees-cracks-it-tanty-worms-or-splits-their-lip-open-running-into-a-display-shelf and we have to bundle back into the car. Which takes another half hour. Or more. With swearing. And sweating. Like a truck driver. Have you ever tried to strap a bleeding-split-lip-tanty-wormer into a car seat? It takes skill. And elbows. And few nudges. A little bit of patience. A little bit of a 'I'm-about-to-open-a-can-of-whoop-ass-if-you-don't-sit-still' mum stink eye. And sometimes a foot.
Exercise. It's a thing of the past. I was never a mad keen gym lover. I liked it. A bit. Ok. I didn't like it. I just went. But now. Forget about it. Yes pushing a pram filled with 30 plus kilos of awesome up hills is exercise. But I miss a good run. Without a pram. Or pit stops. I miss a good hour power walk with a pram and happy passengers. Rather than a two hour one way amble with pram and scooter which I normally end up carrying plus a cranky toddler with scrapped knees because they went too fast when I told them not too. And we end up calling Mr Perfect for a pick up and lift home. Sigh.
Hair. Besides my terrible frizzy j-lo-fauxhawk-bald-advanced-hair-yeah-yeah regrowth on my head... I seem to have more hair than pre kids. And I don't mean on my head. It. Is. Everywhere. Mo sprouters. Chinny chins. Bikini line. Not sure where that starts now and the leg hairs begin. I'm not quite a wildebeest... but man. It isn't pretty. And given the fact I never get to the hairdresser.... I never ever ever get to the waxer-ipl-beautician-de-hair-person-lady either. Sigh. At least the nanna knickers help disguise my nether regions. A little.
Night Night. I used to think acceptable bed times were when the street lights switched on. Now I don't give a feck. I'll sleep when I bloody want. And if I manage to wrangle the kids into bed early... then a 7pm bedtime isn't too early for me either. Hells no.
Love Life. Ha. Whateves. I'm not sure if it's my sexy underwear not setting the mood... or the fact that we are too tired to move or that Mini can hear a bee fart... down the street around the corner. And she wakes up and gets all weird-ass-Kayne-tanty-ranty in our faces. Ugh. I miss sexy time.
Life is beyond great with two. It really is. And I'm a total 'mum' now. Like a real mum. Not just a pretend-play-with-one-baby-all-day mum.
Nothing glamorous. Nothing super exciting. I am taking each day as it comes. Learning to cope. Better. Learning to enjoy. More. Learning to poop with an audience. Even Harold.
Just having awesome days with my awesome babes rocking about in my awesome nanna knickers x