Hey weight a minute!
Read time: a couple of minutes
Apologies in advance: it’s late; the grammar, sentence structure and general blog hasn’t been proof read so 1000 apologies!
So I’m not a massive social media kinda girl, and yes I totally appreciate the irony that I am blogging (in my defence only twice a year at this rate) but the reason we started this whole blog was not to become social influencers – I actually just chortled at the thought of me being a social influencers – I can also hear my mates chortling (and yes I just googled this word so thought it appropriate to use twice in this paragraph) as they read this. The main reason was to throw a little humour at this whole mom experience and give you a gap to laugh at us, laughing at ourselves because, let’s be honest, this – hands down – has to be one of the hardest things you have ever had to juggle. Aaaaand we wanted the people who pick this blog up, mainly in the middle of the night, to know that it is totally normal to actually f*cking hate it on the odd occasion. I said “it” not “them” before we start getting any snarking comments about being child-haters.
Hating things like the lack of sleep – which is a-whoooole-nother blog, constantly being covered in something not so kiff (so much could fall into this category), changing a nappy and getting poo particles on your hand … you with me! Strongly disliking first world problems like never being able to look at your diary again without every page being covered in black pen circles … and aggressive ones that have gone through most of the pages from an over eager threenager. Never being able to get shit fully-done, use both hands, finish a sentence. Hating having to always say “noooooo”, “sloooowwwly”, “careful!” – I totally get why those buggers don’t want to listen because it is blady monotonous just saying it! Today I tried to go easy on the warnings and let these turds experience the world old-school style. Let me tell you it was a shit idea as we totalled up the injuries this evening; one pinched stomach in a cupboard, a couple of couch jumping wipe outs, hair-loss (theirs not mine – clips these days can be blady hardcore … you see – doing it again – warning!), two bruises from attempting the balance bike on the gravel and a lipstick jab to the eye.
Tuesday morning early
I’m lying in bed (not my own obvs) and it is 0.31am. I’m listening to my son practising all his vocab in the room next door (boys can be such aholes) and I am smelling like chunder while my girl child suzas (farts) up a storm; welcome bug. It has been full blown Russian roulette out here in our house tonight. The ultimate Ching Chong Cha for which kid you got to man handle as our house erupted in “maaaaammaaaa” at midnight. The girl one is yacking and seems to be the main patient zero bug-carrier and the boy one … well he suffers from fomo so if okes are up so is that little turd.
One thing I have learnt as a mother is NEVER EVER play all your cards at once. You need to be able to bust out the trump card riiiight at the end; stay one step ahead of the kids and at least two or three of the hubcap. Tonight, I was not on top form!
I had picked the girl one on the back of her being able to speak English. My thinking was that she could tell me when she was about to vom or borsh (poo) and we could kick down to the loo. So as I lay in bed next to patient zero, I 100% giggled waaaaay too early while I could hear my hubby shushing the boy one, whom we have now nicknamed the Badger. (If you’ve ever watched the “Honeybadger don’t give a sh*t” you’ll know those things are next level heckies. The badger bites a snake, which then bites him back. They both die but 20mins later the badger wakes up to chow the snake. That pretty much sums up our kid; next level Badger.
So my hubcap is in with the Badger listening to him repeat “dada dada dada” 47 times a minute and shouting “braaaaaap braaaaaap” at the top of his lungs. We did a fundraiser last Sunday for our little girl’s school which was a motorbike fun ride so the sthuthuths (motorbikes) are the topic of toddler speak at the moment.
I let out a real live LOL – if that still stands for Laugh Out Loud? Sadly, I’m excruciatingly behind the times as I am balls deep in new business ventures, kids and living in the now and when I get to social media it is to try and catch up on the latest news so I don’t look completely doff when peeps say stuff like “oh my tits heckies what happened to Notre D hey!!” and my obvs response is “ja I know!” – unmmmmmm nought wtaf happened – zero clue … zero! “Just popping to the loo” … open up Facies (Facebook) and see the whole blady cathedral has gone up in flames. Gasp. Process. Catch up on a few bullet talking points and back to the convo. “Ja did you see that Scientists are on the hunt for evidence …” .
So the Badger has been awake since 11pm and still chatting to his father who is lying in the bed trying to sleep between getting kicked in the head, the nuts and the boy shouting “brrrraaaaaaaaap braaaaap”. Kids are f*cking relentless! Hahaha.
Suddenly my Ching Chong Cha victory backfires (bad pun – more chortling). She announces that she needs to “burp”. Holding her hand over her mouth, we wrestle the mozzie net, run down the passage with my bra-free boobs flapping all over the place and me firing off words of affirmation “well done my baby for letting mommy know you needed to burp, gooooood girl, keeeeeeep it in, sh*t sh*t, nearly there!“ … just in time to reach the loo where I usually enjoy so many seconds of catching up on the news. My hubby is probably thinking “ja suck it you azzie (a-hole) for laughing at me getting stuck with the Badger”, as he hears frantic trampling down the runway to the bathroom.
So on the topic of flapping boobs – bet you couldn’t have called where this one was going hahaha. Oh my tits, how hectically does your body change after kids. I often look at mine in the mirror and get the serious giggles. It literally looks like it is smiling at me, caesar scar and all. My boobs, which make up the eyes of the ‘smiling face’, aren’t nearly as perky … or close together … or straight … as they used to be and there is a mouth (caesar scar) that looks like it has a fat top lip (my kiff new post-baby boep). So after I have had a good laugh, I stop and give myself the mirror talk. Enough is enough. Time to drop a few kgs even just for the sake of being a bit fitter for running around, and lifting 30kgs of kid all day.
I had a moment the other day which gave me a gentle nudge to start exercising a bit; a little WhatsApp convo with a few mates a couple of weeks back:
Me: Guys I wish you could see what I am wearing! No time to change between bath and dusting the kids.
Mate: Pic please!!!
Me: I just can’t! I’m crying with laughter. I just grabbed broeks out the drawer and landed on a pair from my hens party which still have the tag on and for f*cking good reason too! There is so much muffin top I could start a bakery and my bum has literally eaten up all the cotton.
So to get motivated – I’ve been punishing myself by not buy new clothes while I try and dust a few kgs off the ol’boep – f*cking ambitious I know 😂 – I have literally adopted the “fit in or f*ck off” attack on my wardrobe and body. I wear active wear regularly in the hope that it cuts off my circulation and triggers … no activates … a “get thin” hormone or I just get thin by association because I am in my blady active wear. I realised that biting manageable size chunks off this weight loss ordeal, would be the only way to go when my daughter said “Mom, this is a beautiful shirt – I can see your pretty skin where those nunus made holes” … moth-eaten, stretched Cotton On tees is all that is keeping me clothed these days.
So I am going back to the drawing board and just going to conquer this in a happier and healthier way. Exercise at the start of a-hole hour (which we have 100% been sold a lemon – it lasts waaaaay longer than an hour), with our kids, outside, and include them in the process because after all – most of the weight gain is from hitting a brick wall wider and higher than you could have ever imagined and coping with it; wine, flattening everything on their plates that they won’t eat and snacking in between breathes.
I miss my boobs. Buuuuut this chubby little smiling body of mine has produced some effing amazing little things whom I love and adore and kiss all day and REALLY laugh at. They honestly bring me SO much happiness even though at times we whisper some horrendous things under our breathe!
So cheers (with a Kale smoothy obviously) – here’s to all of us who are on the path to get a little bit fitter and a little thinner to really enjoy being active with our kids. I just keep thinking losing weight will never be the hardest thing you will have to do in your life … those little buggers are already here hahaha! #motivation
Two kids … a walk in the park they said!
August 2018
Dear Diary
So here’s the thing… two kids… oh shit – the one has just shat in the garden and now screaming its pip off… will be back.
February 2019
Dear Diary
Aaaaaaand I’m back. Where was I …
Two kids.
Picture yourself about to embark on the Comrades Marathon. You have trained, running-fit (so to speak), you think you know what you are in for and you feel prepared because you have all the gear.
Gun goes off and you hit the ground running. Confident. As. Eff.
And then a few kms in, the wheels fall off the bus:
- Your hairband breaks so your hair starts sticking to the back of your neck (it’s greasy obviously because you haven’t had time to wash it properly since the first kid).
- You have forgotten to take your tight nylon jersey off because when you started you were wearing it as a dudu-blankie and it is now reaching midday heat and you have nowhere to put the f*cking thing.
- You have blisters because, for the life of you, you can’t remember most of the tricks for keeping your tekkies from rubbing and of course…
- You are just f*cking exhausted, at times delirious, and waaaay too unfit for this.
I know we have mentioned this before but most parents find the newborn the easy one. It is hands down the first born that shows you what they are made of and gives you a total run for your money. You spend so much time saying “what’s gotten into this kid – she/he NEVER used to be like this” … their sibling has “gotten into this kid” and they are most likely hitting the terrible twos, teeth or something equally as terrifying.
A mate of ours told us that we need to consider what the first born feels about this new little turd up in their grill. She says it is like your hubcap bringing home another chick and saying “Hi team, sooo this is Suuusan. She’s coming to liiiive with us. She’s new so we need to make sure she feels at home. She’ll be eating between us, sleeping between us and I will have to attend to you second because Susan is hot and happening at the mo so sit tight homie.”
Now a sound adult mind would be like: “Suzzzzie!! Thank eff you are here. Wingman time guuuurl. Let’s tag team this shit. An extra pair of hands, feet and boobs. Susan, you get the first one and I’ll get the second and if you wouldn’t mind hooking a sister up and taking the night shifts that would be sick. And the hubster … well … we can go halvies. Stoooked you are here home-slice!”.
Toddler be like… “Susan … WTAF. You are SO small and SO useless and you make such a blady noise. I can totally see that my parents don’t dig you for shit. I saw my mom nearly shake you the other day because you wouldn’t shut the eff up and my dad keeps whispering words like “brother ducking kids” under his breath. Susan, I don’t think it is a good idea that you stay here. Move on gurl, otherwise I will show how wild this circus can get!”.
Aaaaaah the things we do for kids. “Baby… this is your sibling – a special homegrown bestie for you. I made this for YOU!” (100% not to suck up hours of my nightly cat naps or mere minutes of freedom).
The best bit is when you realise that you have forgotten all the ‘dos and don’ts’ and you are just balls deep in survival mode. Most of the time, I’m thinking – wooow we wasted SO much energy worrying about half the stuff we did with the first one!
Your hubcap is also experiencing what you had round one and is mourning the loss of his freedom, independence, social life and days where he could hang tits and lie in. Gone b*tches … gone. So naturally your marriage starts to take the heat because everyone is elbows deep in nappies, crying children and general assholery.
We have two things to say on the matter. Firstly, acceptance is key! You will never, in all your life, need this piece of advice as much as you do now while you plunge into the abyss of small, unreasonable human beings. You need to accept that your kids are not going to be the same and the second will 100% surprise you with contradictory behaviour. Genetics are strong and Karma is a total a-hole so she is coming for you if she didn’t get to your house round one. Aaaand if you can accept this and take it day by day, let your hair down and run like no-one is watching – you will give fewer shits, be more confident and take those suckers down… your children that is – Genetics and Karma will always take you down… EVERY TIME!
The second thing is to ALWAYS remember not to let them divide and conquer. Leaders have effed up whole countries this way so you will manage with your little village. Your partner HAS to be your sidekick otherwise you are dead in the water. You 100% won’t wax this most of the time because it is easier to throw verbal abuse at your hubby than admit that your kids are just being plain assholes but you need to work harder than you have ever before on your marriage. If you can put your head down with this, you will come out the other side of it kicking and screaming.
Channel your rage, resentment and/or sadness (the dark days) into something kiff like running or yoga, makeup on your face, buy something online or chocolate – something just for you. Start a WhatsApp group with tighties (who don’t judge!) and post inappropriate, and often hysterical, comments about being a mom, your children and your hubby – this will make you feel not so alone. And if you can, read something that makes you laugh. You actually won’t believe how much better it is to cope with two kids when you can laugh at them … and yourself.
Our second born, doesn’t sleep for shit and he is already 16 months old. Every 3 days, since the beginning of the dark hours (8 months or so when the effing teeth started to show face), my hubby and I have sat down and tried to regroup. We try and say things we really like about each other – you should try it. Most of the time it is stuff like, “You have really nice taste in music”, “Your pants don’t look so tight on you today” or “Did you get a few extra seconds to brush the one side of your hair – looks good!” … that will do pig … that will do! As long as you are trying everything in your power to get back to the place of liking each other; you are on the home stretch.
** That bugger doesn’t actually read our blogs but just incase he does … I REALLY STILL LOVE MY HUBBY and we are at such a good place at the moment; smiling and greeting each other as we walk past in the passage, too afraid to touch in case we make another baby! but the the love has returned. Hard work – trying desperately to tick all the Love Language boxes for each other, and perseverance – every third day, throwing small compliments at each other and we seem to have survived phase 1 of the many phases to come.
And of course, our children (**for when they learn to read) … we love you so much it blady hurts and all the teasing and laughter and whispers of “you little a-holes” is all in the coping with how much we have had to sacrifice to have you in this world but oh my sack was it worth it!
Other than that folks… two kids… a blady walk in the park.
The light does come, or so we’re told!
It is a f*ck sh*t kinda day
This goes out to all my hommies who are having a mare of a week trying to juggle life at the moment. Mother f*cker this has been heckies. I am currently hiding up stairs from my kids, having been out this morning in my kiff high-waisted jeans covered in child mush and my pajama top, which has a smudge of some kind … here’s to hoping it is Bovril!
I should have known the mothering gods where against me this morning when my boy child twisted like a seal doing tricks at Ushaka Marine World, during a nappy change. He spun borsha (poo) in all directions; covering himself in it, my white ‘Mrs’ gown (white … stupid, stupid, stupid colour to own with children) and the floor. I was mock charging for the A-team and pulling wet wipes out of the packet at a pace that would have made Lewis Hamilton proud. I could not get to it fast enough as the little bastard crawled off and smudged his way to the door. It made me so sad! F*ck.
I am balls deep in graft too so the mothering guilt is so fierce at the moment. Today, I thought I would take a little time out with the rats, take the girl child for a beaut activity to see her little mate and the boy one swimming. Look, this isn’t my first rodeo with a one part parent and two part kid activity so I don’t know why I thought the mission would be successful … Expectations … the thing that shaft us as mothers.
The girl one threw a major tantrum. The boy one cried; teething, the sister giving it stick and over-tired. Teeeeeeeth – total design flaw. WTF. Just come out already – I know we need you because we can’t gum our way through the rest of our lives but jeeeez you are not the f*cking Royal Family that need to make such a long winded entrance into the mouth of a child that can’t speak English yet, to communicate that all they need is a hit of Calpol or that they are hungry or that their bum is itchy. Just when we thought we could get a grip on life … teeth. When we thought we could sleep again … teeth. When we thought there was a glimpse of our personalities returning … teeth.
If I was ever asked to brand ‘new teeth’, I would 100% make the logo an asshole and the catch phrase would be “Teeth … kicking mothers back into line since … well the beginning of time!”.
Don’t even get me started on a two year old. I have no energy to put into words this time. I’m sitting at my computer for the second time today (the first was at 3am – 5am this morning to try and get some stuff done) with siff greasy hair, still in my pajama top and just had a peak at my underarms … not pretty!
I think if I had to narrow it down for the girl one it would probably be the high pitched shrieking and whining that sends me so far over the edge that there is sometimes no return.
Needless to say, I didn’t make it to swimming because the boy child face planted on some stones, the girl one was just generally offended by life and I am so eggies (exhausted that the thought of being in a costume, trying to suck in my mom boep and tuck away the ol’spiders (fanny hair; for those of you who are also too tired to think about what I am talking about) … I just couldn’t be arsed!
So for those of you who are feeling like this is a real FS kinda day – let it all hang out sisters; we’ll get it together eventually! More is nog ‘n dag and we can start again then. Head down and we will converse again soon when I have washed my hair, shaved my pits and changed my shirt. #sosiffrightnow