The Glamorous Life of ProudMuma

Want an insight into the glamorous, perfect life of ProudMuma?

I would love to tell you it started after a lovely nights sleep with hubby getting up with the boys, enabling me time for a luxurious shower and to make myself look beautiful before we all go down to our squeaky clean kitchen to have breakfast together. I’d smile smugly as I explain that I am still able to fit into the size 8 bodycon dress I bought just before Christmas which I confidently wore into work today. I would revel in the fact that all the kids I work with had a fab troublefree Christmas and New Year and that I returned home from my half day at work feeling rewarded and energised. I’d happily recall how hubby took the boy to his French lessons and to the park to play rugby before he himself went off to work. I’d brag about the messy time and puzzle time I shared with the boys, followed by assisting boy with his reading & writing (maths and astrophysics!) Then I’d finish by rejoicing at how I had time to make a wonderful nutritious meal before hubby got home from work early, and how we sat and ate together as a family before we bathed the boys, read them stories, put them to bed and snuggled up on the sofa for the night.

But that would be boring! This is how my day really went:

After an unsettled night sleeping next to the Gruffalo (hubby with man flu), I was woken up at 445am by my gorgeous wee man who was chatting and babbling away happily to himself and playing chuck the dummy down the side of the cot. You know, that really fun game of fumbling around in the dark, that is most enjoyed in the early hours when you’re half asleep (and by this I am still referring to the dummy game!!!) As much as I resented being woken at such unearthly hours, it was hard to be cross seeing his big gummy grin beaming happily up at me through the darkness.

I retrieved his dummy and popped it back in several times, before he settled back to sleep, by which time I was, of course, wide awake. Got up and attempted to get dressed, however it appears all of my clothes have shrunk in the wash over the Christmas period. May I reiterate that it has got nothing to do with the copious amounts of food and alcohol I have consumed of late! Must be a fault with the washing machine which I will get fixed straight away… Anyway, I managed to find a slightly frumpy but loose outfit to camouflage my, ahem, New year bulge.

Made my way downstairs to a mountain of washing up that hubby had said he would do before bed last night, but hadn’t because he wasn’t feeling well (the excuses people come up with to get out of washing up, humph!) Being the anally retentive clean freak I am when it comes to the kitchen, I spent the next half hour scrubbing and cleaning it. Shame this obsessive compulsiveness doesn’t extend to the rest of my house, however I keep telling myself that a messy home is a happy home!

All of this cleaning seriously ate into my daily beauty regime though (yeah, alright, don’t laugh!)

Boy was woken by my psychotic kitchen episode and came downstairs, demanding breakfast, NOW. This resulted in further mess in the kitchen, which of course, I had to clean up before I attempted anything else, for fear of impending death!

By the time I got to check myself out in the mirror, I kinda wished I hadn’t. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and my hair looked like Worzel Gummidges. Nothing a bit of slap and FrizzEase couldn’t fix (or so I told myself!)

I had to brave it and go wake hubby, who grunted and coughed; snot encrusted around his nose and dried saliva around his mouth from sleeping all night with his mouth open due to his nose being so blocked. Oh, how I love that man! (I really do, but at that time I was late for work and had no time for sympathy!)

I kissed my boys goodbye, grabbed my toast and ran for the bus. Dropped my toast en route, which of course, landed buttered side down. Typical. Not that I considered picking it up and eating it, of course, but 3 second rule and all that…

Got to the bus stop just in time as a bus had just pulled in. Bonus. Yanked my buspass from my bag, and to my horror, a sanitary towel (unused!) had attached itself, which dramatically flew out at the bus driver. Picked it up, my face burning red, scurried to a seat avoiding eye contact with all other passengers, and made it to work (without embarrassing myself any further).

Spent the morning dealing with a case of a young person who’s years of abuse at the hands of the people who should love and protect them most: their parents, had escalated over the Christmas period. Made me crave being able to hold my boys and tell them how much I love them, and made me appreciate that, hell, I’m not such a bad muma after all.

Finished work early as hubby is on lates – again, and had to get off to work, so rushed home on the bus (without throwing any sanitary goods at the driver this time) and to my delight, the heavens opened as I got off the bus, showering me in the water of the Gods! Will save me trying to find time to have a bath later, I suppose.

Like passing ships in the night, hubby left for work as soon as I got in, and my second (but most important) job began: Muma.

We had fun playing games all afternoon, writing thankyou cards for all their Christmas presents and snuggling up in front of the CBeebies panto for like the 100th time (I kid you not!) It was bliss.

Just before dinner, Wee Man decided to clear his bowels to make room for tea. After removing his dirty nappy, I thought it would be nice to give him a few moments of naked play. Nappy free. As nature intended. He clearly had other ideas though and promptly sprayed me with urine, which I stemmed with one hand whilst grabbing desperately for the wipes with the other. Boy then shouted: “Muma, he’s doing another pooh!” Argh, he was! My instant reaction was to use the hand grabbing for the wipes, to rescue the pooh before it hit the floor. So, I had one hand covered in urine and the other full of s*&t (pardon my French). I have never felt more glamorous in all my life!

We cleaned up, but by now it was late and I did not have time to make the “healthy nutritious meal” I always aim to. So boy had to settle for a plate of pesto pasta and hotdogs. Boy was sat there for 45 minutes, playing with his food rather than eating it (not surprising really!) He was given his usual warning to stop playing and start eating, or straight to bed and no pudding. This resulted in a 15 minute protest of him saying “I can’t!” and “I’ve got no energy!” and “I need the toilet” and “”I want to give you a hug!” All the excuses I’ve heard all too often and not being one to back down on my warnings, I followed through and took him up to bed early, along with his baby brother.

Read a story, sung to them both and had lovely snuggles before I tucked them happily into their beds.

‘Right’, I thought, ‘I’ll treat myself and run a bath.’ I slipped into those soapy bubbles, closed my eyes and felt my cares and dirt melt away…

“It’s not fair!” Boy was at the bathroom door.

“What’s not fair?” I asked.

“I wanted a bath! Now I will have to go to bed all smelly!”

Like that has ever bothered him before! I asked him to go back to bed, which he did, but not without another 15 minutes of repetitive “It’s not fair!” When did my 4 year old turn into Kevin from “Kevin and Perry”? Who kidnapped my cutesy, innocent wee boy and turned him into a grumpy, argumentitive teenager?

I realised I was not going to get a bath in peace, so quickly shaved my legs and got out. There were no clean towels as hubby had used them, and hung them over bedroom doors rather than our radiator in the bathroom (which would clearly be the most practical and logical place to put wet bath towels, surely?!) So I ran through to the bedroom to get a clean towel, which is when I noticed I had hacked off a huge chunk of skin at the back of my foot whilst hastily shaving, that was now oozing blood, the trail of which was smeared all over our carpet. Our CREAM carpet.

So there I am, on hands and knees, in the bedroom…

Scrubbing the carpet (I know what you were thinking, tut tut!)

I go into to smooth things over with boy and give him a cuddle, and he’s at that beautiful stage where he is half asleep (and half awake surprisingly). I kiss his forehead and he says “I love you Muma”. Music to my ears.

It’s too late to cook a healthy meal for myself, but I manage to knock up a culinary delight of beans on toast – with grated cheese (Gordon Ramsay, eat your heart out!) I then open the fridge and find inside, an unfinished bottle of the bubbly stuff from New Year. It looks at me. I look at it. It whispers, “You know you want me” and I say, “No, I’m trying not to drink throughout January, thank you very much” and shut the door in its face.

I sit down to eat, but I can hear it, beckoning me. “Just one sip” it says.

I switch on the telly to drown it out, but there it is again, “Drink me!”

Suddenly a bean goes down the wrong hole, and I gag, and choke and I can’t stop coughing. I run into the kitchen to get some water to wash it down, but there are no glasses to hand. So I run to the fridge, yank it open and I glug that bad boy bubbly stuff straight from the bottle.

Be a shame to see it go to waste…

Having polished off the remainders in the bottle, and cleaned the kitchen like a possessed woman, I decide its time to retire for the day, ready for a re-run tomorrow. I brush my teeth, put on some flanelette nightwear (what? its cold in January!) and sink under the duvet. When hubby gets home late, he hugs and tells me he loves me, and you know what, everything’s alright.


This really was my day. It’s not glamorous and it’s not sexy. We may not be perfect, we may not have much – but we have each other and a whole lotta love, and  I wouldn’t change it for the World! We are healthy and happy and our house, albeit messy at times, is a home. What more could we need or want? Shove your glamorous life… I’m happy with mine thanks!


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