Reality Check

For a moment yesterday I was that mum. Not that mum, the one with smashed banana in her hair, vomit on her shoulder and a baby with a dirty nappy you can smell a mile away. No, I was THAT mum. The one with bouncy hair and a smile on her face. The one that makes having an infant look easy and fashionable and fun.

Hazelle had just fallen asleep in her pram and so I decided to pop into a trendy local café to get a coffee. As I walked into the café I felt so put together and accomplished. I was wearing a proper outfit, no stretchy pants or oversized menswear. I had make up AND jewellery on and my hair was bouncily blow dried (yes, a 3 day old blow dry with a ratio of 1:1 dry shampoo and actual strands of hair but it was still better than my knotted bun I usually sport). I sat down, ordered my skinny latte (no caffeine ban for this pregnant mama), pulled out multiple Apple products and started blogging and social media-ing away.

Latte gone and baby still sleeping, I got cocky and decided to order something to eat. Although all I really wanted was a muffin, I got caught up in the ‘coolness’ of it all and went for a more hipster and decidedly more green option. With ingredients like brussel sprout slaw, pancetta, chilli and kale, my choice definitely did the job of mentally increasing my ‘cool mum’ image and truth be told, it was delicious. Better than a muffin? Maybe not, but delicious nonetheless.

By this time Hazelle had woken up. No problem though, she was all smiles as she gulped down her bottle I had cleverly pre prepared and she waved at other diners in between shared bites of the last of my hipster lunch.

This is where my moment ends.

By the time we were up at the counter paying, Hazelle had had enough of the pram. I dug into my non-baby bag but cool Marc Jacobs’s handbag and start pulling out snacks, toys, shiny things, anything to keep her entertained. I’m still feeling like I have a chance to hold on to my cool mum status until Hazelle decides that she is desperately upset with the two 19-year-old girls innocently standing behind us in the line. I’m talking red faced; open mouthed, uncontrollable crying and screaming. This is also the exact moment the boy behind the register tells me that the paywave on my card isn’t working and he can’t put the payment through. Cool mum status slipping away very, very quickly.

I pull out the controversial dummy, tell the boy to just insert the card, I promise there is money on it (whilst hoping that there, in fact, is). Hazelle is still screaming through the dummy, the poor young girls confused at what they did wrong (nothing) and the cashier baffled because he is barely old enough to remember a time credit cards could be inserted into a machine let alone swiped along the side. With heat rising under my collar, I have well and truly become that mum now.

I finally leave with an empty pram, baby in my arms, straight into the pouring rain. By the time I get into the car, the blow dry is gone, my ‘cool’ jeans are soaked through and sticking to my pregnant thighs and oh, my baby has a dirty nappy.

Well the moment was good while it lasted.

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