I sometimes think I have a clumsy/mortification gene that suddenly switched on when I reached my 30s. You see before that I wasn’t what you’d call accident prone, but since I’ve entered this decade, I’ve had more embarrassing mishaps then I can count. It’s like I’m some kind of bumbling numpty that somehow manages to trip over her own feet when just walking in a straight line. I shouldn’t be surprised though, it runs in the family. My dad has broken more bones then I can count from various DIY related incidents and my granny once fell out of a parked car and was regularly black and blue from her little trips!
Case in point. I was in M&S in Dundrum the other day, trying to get a trolley out with one hand, while I held my little dude (who weights a bleedin’ tonne!) in my other. I huffed and puffed, getting redder in the face, wondering why my euro wouldn’t go in.
Come on for Jesus sake, I thought to myself. My arm is about to break off here and if I let him down on the ground he’ll do a Usain Bolt for the lift buttons and I’ll be here all day trying to get him away from them. Just come on you fucking trolley from hell just take my euro! (Yes my swear jar got a pounding that day)
Then it suddenly came free and I fell backwards straight into a humongous crisp display. I landed with a POP so loud the entire shop heard!
My arse had burst a load of the bags...
But the best bit? The bloody trolley was free that’s why my euro wouldn’t go in!
In the past I would have been beyond mortified by that, I mean I wouldn’t have darkened the door of the place again. It would have really bothered me because I was so self-conscious. But that's the amazing the difference motherhood makes. I just dusted myself off and laughed. I mean I really laughed, because it was hilarious! And so did everyone else. I’m betting whoever was in the shop CCTV room nearly wet themselves with the hysterics, but instead of letting it worry me, I basically took a bow and got on with it.
Motherhood changes us in so many ways. Some of them are more deeply felt and thoughtful. I’ve blogged before about how I felt as though I completely lost my identity when I became a mum. But apart from the more serious side of things, motherhood has made me a million times less self-conscious then I used to be.
And it’s great. I really don’t give a flying fuck what people think of me anymore. I would have been one of those people who’d refuse to use a changing room where the curtain didn’t pull over the entire way, in case someone might catch a glimpse of my wobbly bits in the mirror… Now if the whole curtain comes down I’d probably just strike a pose in my stomach-holding-in-pants and keep going. I mean I regularly leave the house looking like the wreck of the Hesperus, as I loudly chat toddler-ese to my little dude as he sits in the shopping trolley or find myself saying ‘ta-ta’ to the person at the till on auto-pilot because I’ve forgotten what adult conversation is like.
The bottom line is, there are some upsides to this motherhood malarkey and having absolutely zero time to think about myself anymore means I can no longer over analyse or self-obsess about what people think of me or my appearance and it has set me free from my own self-consciousness.