I used to live life carefree, me. Yearning, earning, partying and farting about.
Until one day, the great conception star in the sky said:
‘Hey u! You’ve been spending far too much money on Jack Daniels, Yves St Laurent and Morgan De Toi. Let’s give you something else to spend your money on instead.’
And ‘poof’ there I was, single mum to twins.
Now, I know we’re all supposed to say how wonderful being puked on and shat on is, how poignant our babies first steps/words/bowel movements are, how monumentally exquisite being a mum is but let’s be honest - being a mum is a big pile of shit, sometimes.
You slave your guts out for shit. You work your ass off for shit, you get covered in shit, you get fed full of shit. And if that wasn’t enough, you have to go through shit, eat shit and not give a shit by the time you learn how to deal with the shit.
Believe me. The ‘pregnant’ blooming glow is a barrel of bollocks. Having kids sucks dick.
Behind the Quinny, The anti-MMR brigade, the banal and completely unnecessary birthday parties, etc - you’ll still end up a bashed in, ground down, wrinkly, haggard looking old bastard.
If it’s not your child’s clothes, hair, shoes, manners, road/internet/personal safety you’re worrying about, it’s whether they’re going to shop you to Child Protection Services because every teatime, you lose the plot.
And let’s face it, no designer handbag, amazing school-play costume/disco outfit, Ugg Boots or 4x4 is going to disguise that really.
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