I am not a yummy mummy and I don’t care!

Some days I find myself feeling a little like a professional, a little like a mummy, a little like a wife, and a sprinkle like a real woman, but generally not a complete anything. 

I think that part of unsettling feeling is caused by the developing breed known as the ‘yummy mummy’. Once upon a time, this phrase was used to refer to a mummy who looked a bit yummy, but it has since developed into a whole new class of society with fit in rules and traits. Some people belong naturally, some people can feign belonging, and some people, like me, will just never make the grade. Take for example my afternoon swimming with one of the kids. There are significant differences between my experience and that of the yummy mummy. Some of these are real observations, and some are thoughts which I have and I am sure will be echoed by other mummies, whether true or not.

The yummy mummy will have planned the entire half term in morning and afternoon slots, a trip for the kids to the water park being one slot. I ended up going to the water park because after a glass of wine or two, when I couldn’t get the last kid to go to bed, I resorted to blatant bribery. I assumed that I would find a way to get myself out out of it today, probably by spending money in a toy shop. Sadly,the kid was having none of it, so off to the water park we went.

The yummy mummy will know the way to the water park as it will be a regular outing for her little darlings. I avoid the water park at all costs seeing it as a widdle infested swamp teeming with viole infants. The yummy mummy will never find herself having to phone her husband at work to ask how to make google maps talk on the iphone as the sat nav still has the France maps CD in from August’s holiday. 

The yummy mummy arrives at the pool with each child having its own designer swimming bag. She will have appropriately coloured towels for each child. This is in contrast to me shoving my swimsuit into the PE kit bag packed by the kid, assuming that he will have packed the essentials like shampoo and towels. 

Suffice to say, you will never see the yummy mummy leaving her little darlings in the changing room and running semi clad back to reception to get change from a £5 note for the locker. Aside from the fact she wouldn’t embarrass herself by producing anything less than a £20 note in public, she doesn’t use a coin, she uses a Waitrose key ring token. 

The yummy mummy keeps her beautifully ironed hair dry throughout the entirety of the swim. I can’t keep mine dry getting into the pool.

Each of the yummy mummy’s little darling’s will enter the pool with age appropriate flotation devices, in the correct gender colour. She would never turn up with no flotation device having forgotten that the child  accompanying her cannot swim, and will therefore have to spend the next 2 hours hanging off her neck.

The yummy mummy has not only managed to apply makeup today, but keeps it intact, mascara and all, throughout the swimming session.

The yummy mummy confidently stands in the shallows, showing off a still even tan from her summer relaxing in the sun. I hide under the water to disguise the child inflicted bruise and bite marks, not to mention the guinea pig bite marks, and long since faded patchy tan. 

The yummy mummy may have had the same number of children as me, but her body has handled it oh so much better than mine (she probably does yoga and stuff). 

The yummy mummy elegantly rides the water flume as do her little darlings. I cling to the railings all the way up due to an overwhelming fear of heights, then demand the kid ride down in tandem with me due to a fear of water slides. 

When the yummy mummy emerges from the pool, she and the darlings enter the human blow dryer. Me and the kid enter the same cubicle and trip over each other while sharing the one towel he packed for himself. 

The yummy mummy has an array of organic child orientated shampoos, conditioners, bodywashes and talcum powders. These are applied in a precise order to each uncomplaining child. I have some dregs of shampoo, but my kid won’t get in the shower anyway.

The yummy mummy produces a labelled packed lunch for each little darling to eat after swimming. This contains such ingredients as organic quinoa, carrot batons and farm fresh goats cheese. I give the kid a bag of Doritos and a pot of homous that I thought to throw in at the last minute. 

The yummy mummy is probably going home to make organic fruit marshmallows in the shape of bats to hand out to trick or treaters tomorrow. I am going home to battle with 4 kids, then drink gin and snuggle with the guinea pigs. I will sort out trick or treat tomorrow.

So does it really matter? No. Not really. You see my kid kissed me about 20 times today and told me how much he loved me and how much he loved swimming. He would probably hate organic quinoa and he loves Doritos. He would prefer I spent time taming his guinea pigs for him than making marshmallows. The yummy mummy’s kids probably love swimming, quinoa and organic marshmallows. My kid thinks it’s funny that I am scared of heights and waterslides, and is mature enough to love me all the more for doing it for him.



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