The Princess and the Sprog

I can’t wait till Kate Middleton has babies. I’m getting a bit irritated by her skinniness and her stylishness and that perfect Princess thing she’s got going on. Yes, like many, I was gripped by The Royal Wedding, despite having to watch Pippa’s cellulite-free arse slink up the aisle. But I feel like she’s had her moment as the beautiful bride, now it’s time to grab the Prince, throw the bodyguards out the door and royally get down to business.

Oh no, I’m not bothered about them creating an heir. I just want to see Kate turn up for her first baby photo shoot, in elasticated Mothercare pjs, with regurgitated milk over her shoulder, bags under her eyes and projectile baby poo in her hair. Then, I might start warming to her.

Of course it won’t happen. She’ll have 57 nannies who’ll deal with all the nasty stuff, while she teeters out of the labour ward in a size zero Alexander McQueen number, with perfectly coiffed hair and next season’s lippie. After all, she’s bound to take advice from her new BFF Victoria Beckham, who I imagine had a full entourage waiting for her in the postnatal wing, lest she smudge her mascara during the C-section.

Unfortunately, it’s not just celebrity mums that make giving birth and the consequences thereof, look so easy squeezy. There are perfectly groomed mothers everywhere, who appear to have momentarily turned off their straighteners, popped out a baby and then carried on styling their locks, like nothing happened. And what’s worse, they’ve remained looking glamorous ever since.

I’m not one of those mothers. It’s been nearly 16 months since my daughter made her entrance into the world and I still haven’t managed to fit into half my wardrobe, let alone look stylish.

What I don’t understand, is how I’m supposed to buy these on-trend clothes when my children alternate between tearing out of the shop door and flinging themselves on the floor with rage? How do I concentrate on blow drying my hair, when my kids are launching themselves off the back off the sofa? How do I apply eyeliner, when my little one screams the house down if I stop her from eating the contents of my make-up bag?

Before I had The Boy and The Girl, I had all the time in the world to beautify myself. If I had a party to go to, I’d spend an entire day getting waxed, manicured and blow dried. Then all I needed to do was try on some dresses, get stressed because I thought I looked fat in all my dresses, ask my husband which dress I should wear, get annoyed because he’d chosen the dress I specifically said I did not want to wear, text my friends to see what they were wearing, choose the dress I originally planned to wear, try on every pair of shoes in my wardrobe to see which one made my cankles look thinnest, turn my cupboards upside down looking for the right handbag and apply lots of lots of make-up. And I’d still run late.

Now, my ‘dressing up’ routine goes a bit like this - throw on whichever dress is the least creased, realise there’s a stain on it, manically try and remove the stain with a baby wipe, throw an old mascara in a bag and run out the door. And that’s for a special occasion.

Oh well. Maybe once the kids are both old enough to spread their own toast, wipe their own bottoms and put their own shoes on the correct feet, I’ll have time to transform myself into a yummy mummy.

But for now, I’ll have to make do with being a messy mummy, with a slight resentment towards certain royals…