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"Why I refuse to be a 'yummy mummy'."

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No regrets.

I’m not a big fan of the word mummy. Mummy blogger? Please don’t ever call me that. But the term I hate most is “yummy mummy”.

Yummy mummy is basically telling me that even though I’m now a mother, I have to make sure I’m still sexy.

That means squeezing into tight jeans and heels, and always making sure my hair and makeup are done, whether I’m picking up the kids from school or shopping for toilet paper. It’s like on top of all my other jobs – maths tutor, short-order cook, dog walker, etc – I’m supposed to add another one. Hot chick.

Sorry. I can’t be bothered. I just don’t care whether guys on a building site whistle as I walk by (although I still appreciate a good-looking tradie turning up to fix my plumbing). Anyway, I don’t have the time to look hot anymore.

In my pre-kids days, I had plenty of time. I would wander through clothes shops for hours on end, go to the gym a few times a week, and apply mud masks on quiet afternoons at home.

Now, I’ve got other things to do. Things I’d rather do.

types of mothers
“Now, I’ve got other things to do. Things I’d rather do.” Image via iStock.

Oh, sure, I still get my hair coloured and put on a bit of mascara, but it’s a token effort. I barely glance in the mirror before I leave the house. I still buy clothes, but now it’s not just about what looks good. I’ve discovered the joys of hoodies (no more cold ears), mid-rise jeans (no more chilly midriff) and ugg boots (no more icy feet). I don’t spend the winter shivering anymore.

Not that my pre-kids wardrobe has gone to waste. My leopard skin hot-pants got chopped up to make little furry cut-out cats for my daughter, while my son decided that my wooden jewellery box was actually a pirate’s treasure chest full of precious gems.

My children don’t dress like a yummy mummy’s children. That’s probably because I always let them choose what they put on. Over the past week I’ve seen my daughter wearing my new jumper as a pair of leggings, a tea towel as a superhero cape, and fluffy pink bed socks with sandals. I can’t imagine anyone following her if she had her own Instagram account.

types of mothers
“Over the past week I’ve seen my daughter wearing my new jumper as a pair of leggings, a tea towel as a superhero cape, and fluffy pink bed socks with sandals.” Image via Imgur.
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My house doesn’t look like a yummy mummy’s house. The lawn has holes, which the kids have dug for worms. There are paint handprints on the kitchen cupboards, and a monster drawn with crayons on the bathroom wall. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to reassure myself that dirt is good for building up children’s immunity.

When I make cupcakes, it’s not because I want to show them off on Pinterest, but so my kids can lick the spoons. My daughter asked me a few days ago to get out the iron for an art project, and I couldn’t even remember where it was. (Seriously, why would anyone buy clothes that need ironing?)

This is the thing. By not being a yummy mummy, and by not having a yummy mummy’s perfect house, I’m saving myself time.

My weekends are freed up for me to do what I really want to do, which is hang out with my husband and kids. We just like to go places together. Playgrounds, beaches, bookstores. Currently my son and daughter are obsessed with mazes and caves, so we’re checking out as many of those as we can find within a few hours of the city.

types of mothers
“I’m saving myself time. My weekends are freed up for me to do what I really want to do, which is hang out with my husband and kids. We just like to go places together. Playgrounds, beaches, bookstores.” Image via iStock.

When my kids look back on their childhood, I don’t want them to say, “My mum always looked really pretty,” or, “My house was always clean.” I want them to say, “Remember that time we went to 10 beaches in 10 days?” or “Remember that time we drove for six hours to see snow, built a snowman, then turned around and drove home again?”

No one’s going to call me a yummy mummy.

But if my two kids think of me a fun mum, then I’m happy.

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