I am a woman who’s publicly shared a lot of my life over the last four years. I loved writing the column, it was fun and ‘she’, Mademoiselle, was exciting. But I’ve not been in the mood to write about ‘my’ life over the past few months. Witticisms about fashion shows, handbags and boys make amusing reading, right? Emotionally charged, madly typed, fatigue induced, Internet-peuk-up, not so much. Call the cops.
Motherhood is beautiful and berserk in equal measure. The ecstatic up is unbelievably joyful but the downs can be troublesome, heart-wrenching and borderline catastrophic. I don’t wish to share catastrophe with anybody except for maybe my dog, or my cat but she’s SO judgemental. It’s the tiredness that breaks you. It’s post-Ibiza-relentless-all-night-partying comparable tiredness. In addition to which, there’s the emotional strain of trying to keep a teeny tiny baby alive. ‘Is he breathing’, ‘should his skin be that colour’, ‘why isn’t he moving’. Oh my good God, I’ve felt like Rolf Harris starring in a feature length version of Animal Hospital for the last four months!!! * Cue sad animal death music * * but without the death, my mum told me no animals died in that entire series. Okay? *
Five months ago I was a woman who went to work wearing a dress, perhaps a printed one by Peter Pilotto, even. I wore fuck me shoes during the day. I carried an overpriced handbag! I dined at recession-inappropriate restaurants every week and had regular nail and hair pampering! I was ALWAYS on my BlackBerry! My phone rang off the hook! I was popular! People liked me! My days were packed and eventful! I was too busy to talk to my mother! I had to take taxis everywhere because I was just so Goddamn important and busy! I now work the grunge look but not a la Kate Moss / Corinne Day, more Charlie ‘wild eyed’ Sheen waking up in a wardrobe after a three day bender with carpet fluff up his nose.
Apparently there are women out there for whom early motherhood is like second nature and I salute you and your music classes, baby yoga and year-long breastfeeding. I wish I possessed some of your let’s-just-throw-the-baby-in-a-sling-and-go-ness! As for me, well, I can usually be found flaunting an inappropriate nappy bag (primary coloured SS12 Celine suede clutch with adjustable gold chain, see instore for details), mainlining strong coffee wearing sunglasses inside the big loo at Westfield. My phone rings far less. My hair gets washed whenever. I sometimes sport a smudge of baby sick on my J Crew sweat-top. I’ve swapped Chloe high-heeled pumps for Converse. So sue me, people!
The pressure women put themselves under during the first few months of motherhood is absurd. The icing on ‘the new mum cake’ is the nervous breakdown brought on by our persistent pursuit of perfection. I’m as guilty as any of pouring over pictures of Victoria Beckham, Kate Hudson, Rachel Zoe et al, them and their tales of how they ‘just naturally snapped back into shape within a millisecond of giving birth’. Cheers girls, I’ve had to drink quite a lot of wine to get over those post-preggers shots.
I’m back in the room. I no longer look unhinged (ish). Thanks for listening, normal service is now resumed. Stay tuned for the shopping channel.
