Bekki Pope is a blogger who’s just had a baby so of course she hit the ‘net with a post about her experience. But even she would be surprised at how much this super real, very gritty post has resonated with mums everywhere.
The Facebook status update on the UK mum’s Mummy Mumbles page has already been shared more than 80,000 times, attracted 114,000 responses and almost 50,000 comments.
Her hilarious insights include comparing the first wee to a bad porno, the first shower to a scene from a horror movie and the post-baby tummy to nectarine jelly.
The responses, that have been posted from everywhere (e.g. New York City subways, ferries crossing to France) have been equally comedic and amazingly real, and include:
“I got to number 6 before I have had to stop and save the link for when I can really laugh over it… I desperately want to read on, but the fear of busting stitches/ waking partner or baby (she gave birth two weeks earlier) is so real I just can’t risk it.”
“Sat on a ferry on my way to France to pick up 13 year old and almost spat coffee everywhere reading this. Brilliant and so true. My boobs are now friends with my knees I have to cross my legs when I sneeze my stomach looks like half deflated helium balloon and God forbid anyone else be in the bathroom when I yell ‘potty emergency’
“Not forgetting 1a) The only real reason for birth plans is that you can go back to them years later and laugh at how naive you both were. Child 1’s birthing plan was all humming, chanting and chewing on a licorice root for pain relief. Child 2’s birthing plan was to get the bugger out as quickly, painlessly as possible and hope for extra tea and toast.”
“This should be chapter one of motherhood. Shortly followed by ‘the intervening years’ smelling of sick, not remembering where you left a hairbrush let alone your name and being unable to stand with hand on a pram without automatically rocking it.”
This is Bekki’s Facebook post:
Here is her very funny list in full – share it with every mum, new or experienced you know.
20 things to know when you’ve just pushed out a baby:
The after pains. Pain. After. Who knew? When God designed women to give birth, he well and truly screwed us over….
Your first wee. Take a jug with you and pour it over your bits like you’re trying to be a star in some very disturbing porno. It helps.
3.. Your first poo. Do not panic. You are not having another baby. It just feels that way. But just remember the size of the thing you pushed out of the front bit, and the prospect of pushing out what’s in the back bit won’t be quite so daunting. Your bum is not falling out. Or it might be. If you have piles. Which you probably do…
Your baby looks weird. Like… Really weird. ‘Oh how cute/such a beautiful baby’ etc will be said at you and you’ll accept other people’s opinions, but to you it looks like a hairless slightly purple old grandad with dried blood and skin stuck to its wrinkly face.
Their downstairs bits are ridiculous. You will worry about the impact they will have on their lives should they stay like that. Boys little nuggets are the size of whole walnut whips, but their willies are the size of the walnuts on the top that nobody wants. Apparently this ‘swelling’ goes down soon. If it doesn’t, expect ‘big bollocks’ to be part of your sons school nickname.
Their first poo is not actually poo. It’s tar. The midwives sneak in over night, fill your baby’s nappy with treacle and then test you to see if you know to get rid of it, or to see if you decide to take one look at it and start googling ‘why do nappies come pre-filled with marmite?’
Your first shower will be like a scene from Carrie. It’s normal. It may feel like you’ll never be right again and that you’ll walk like John Wayne forever, and you might, but you’ll feel so much better for the shower. You’re literally washing away your sins. (If the baby was born out of wedlock anyway….)
Midwives like babies. They will come and pick yours up with no prior warning. They will squeeze their testicles, massage their tummies to make them crap, and fiddle with their face so much you’re sure the baby looks like it’s had botox when they give it back.
Your baby hates you. It’s not crying. It’s communicating with its master- the devil- about how successful their plan to destroy you is going. Seriously – it doesn’t actually hate you. It may seem like it never cries when anyone else holds it or that it enjoys keeping you up all night, but really, it is so dependant on you it’s embarrassing. Human babies are embarrassing.
You will say the word ‘latch’ more than you have ever said it in your life. And the idea of a tiny person casually sucking on your nipples suddenly becomes a reality. At this moment, you will feel like an actual proper mum.
And a cow.
There are people in hospital that can smell your vulnerability. They will take photos of your baby looking cute and then try and charge you a million pounds for it. They will scroll through the 50 photos they’ve taken of your baby in the same position, asking you to choose your favourites. and if you’ve got a partner like mine, that means you will have to re-mortgage your house by the time he’s done…
The hospital food is as bad as it is so that people decide they would rather be in pain and at home than eating ‘peaches and custard’. The custard is hot wee with a splash of breast milk mixed in, and the peaches are body parts that have been soaked in sugar over night. And don’t eat the chocolate mousse. Just don’t.
It farts. It burps. It hiccups. It makes weird noises in its sleep that make you think you’re going to wake up and see Chucky in the cot- head spinning and laughing. You hope people know it’s the baby and not you. Not that you’d know if you were farting. Your sphincter muscle control is somewhat lacking at the moment.
Everyone you’ve ever met will want to come to the hospital to see you. People get overexcited about visiting hospitals. They feel VIP when they walk in to a ward. You are a VIP- a very in-pain person. And you look and feel like death. So only accept visitors if you are up to it. You’re still so high on drugs that making conversation with adults is like trying to sieve flour with a fishing net. Everything just pours out of you and none of the shit is stopped getting through…
You can read all of Bekki’s blogs about her journey through motherhood here.
