Eyebrows overgrown and all too close to their real colour. Hair regrowth unmentionable. Bags under eyes tattooed on. Abdominal remnants of pregnancy sticking to me like glue. Nail polish on toes 3+ weeks old and chipped to buggery - destined to remain in this hopeless state due to bizarre amnesty on nail polish remover in Port Moresby. (Me to every shop assistant at every chemist: "Hi, I was just wondering if you had any nail polish remover?", them to me: "No.") And still, I continue to search, as though the PNG salesperson frankness was not enough information to go on.
And then there's family life. It is a 24 hour a day affair for me at the moment. Everyone else seems to be getting decent sleep. I suppose my heart should be warmed by all the time I get to watch my beautiful babies and sexy breadwinner sleeping soundly and peacefully. Those wee hours really are a special time. FOR THEM ESPECIALLY AS THEY ARE ...... A-S-L-E-E-P!
So I breastfeed constantly, do my best to manage the toddler's walk on the wild side (I hope she soon learns that crime ultimately doesn't pay), and absorb the big issues of the day from the busy working world, while cooking dinner, running baths, changing nappies and wiping bottoms. Meanwhile ... my eyebrows continue to grow. I have declared to all under my roof, that it must stop, as I can no longer continue to feel as depicted in the following image:
I am a sow! I am lying on my side with my teats out all day for every member of my family!
As a Goop subscriber however, I receive the occasional email that makes me feel connected to a different universe. And as I read helpful makeup tips, recipes, ideas for a sexy Valentine's Day ("you change the next *&^%ing nappy" was not on it ... woops, bad start to day of romance), and see shots from Canne and the red carpets of the world, I feel more as though I look like this:
If Gwyneth can have it all, surely I can rustle up some old Hollywood celebrity pizzazz in the compound? Clearly there is a disconnect in my online and lived realities. There may be also a mild disconnect between what God gave Gwyneth and me that no amount of on-time waxing can address.
Don't hold it against me for drawing the thinnest of parallels! A girl has to get by, and if imagining that I somehow have something in common with GP (to her subscribers), then I have to do what I have to do.
Anyway. No point wishing the hard times away ... it all goes so fast .... as every parent with horrible teenagers attests. I am most certainly enjoying the perfect wide cartoon smile of my little guy that greets me every time I put my head over the cot, and when I'm not trying to work out effective and lasting frameworks of reprimand and learning lessons for the girl, I am usually laughing at/with her.
Eg "Mummy would you like a tadpole?" as she offered me one of my tampons at bath time yesterday.
The show must go on!
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