Babies are boring…
…breastfeeding sucks and drugs can be okay. Read on for more truths no-one tells new moms.
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It’s okay to think your baby is boring.
Let’s not beat around the bush here: spending time with a baby is like hanging out with an insanely demanding, severely retarded, incontinent and very short person. So it’s completely natural to wonder what has happened to your life as you sit at home on a Friday night, playing peek-a-boo for the billionth time.

Finding your baby boring does not make you a bad mother. Just don’t do anything drastic. One of these days that little fat slug is going to turn into a real child, and then you’ll be glad you didn’t sell her to a rich American couple.

Prozac is a wonderful drug.
Look, of course I would never dream of advocating prescription medication – and more specifically A-grade, industrial strength anti-depressants in generous handfuls – to any mother who’s struggling to cope. That would be irresponsible. Nor am I saying one should necessarily consume copious amounts of white wine when the going gets tough.

But I have to admit that it sure as hell worked for me.

Children tend to survive in spite of their parents.
I sucked at being a new mom. There, I’ve said it. And I’m not being too hard on myself either. According to just about every expert out there, I did absolutely everything wrong.

A few examples: I could never get my baby to sleep through the night, stick to a routine, or stay quiet in public, no matter how hard I tried. I forgot her three week and her six months visit to the pediatrician (or was that six weeks and three months – who can remember these things anyway?).

And guess what? She’s now a ridiculously healthy, happy and absolutely wonderful child, who shows no sign whatsoever of having been damaged irreparably.

Which, I guess, just goes to show how resilient those little buggers really are.

Breastfeeding sucks.
I got blisters on my nipples. Yes, you read that right. Blisters. On my nipples. And my breasts became so hard and sore that I was reduced to trading La Senza for cabbage leaves. Cabbage leaves.

Meanwhile, all those terrible mothers who caved in and fed their babies formula now have perfectly healthy children and no Post Traumatic Stress reaction whenever they see a maternity bra.

When I think back on the way those evil nurses pulled and jerked at my tender nipples, how they prodded and poked at my bruised breasts, I’m not sure whether I’ll breastfeed second time around. I am sure about one thing however: I will never be bullied that way again.

Running after a baby does not make you thin.
Ignore the supermodels and the actresses and that gorgeous blonde mom at playschool who all solemnly swear that they lost the baby weight by running around, caring for a toddler. They’re lying. The reason they’re so thin is either because they never got fat in the first place, or because they’ve been dieting like Lindsay Lohan on speed.

If you’re a normal person, your body is simply not just going to snap back magically to its former size. But at least you will be able to comfort yourself with the idea that you are not alone. In fact, you are part of a big, happy club full of big, happy women. Because, you see…

…other mothers are not the enemy.
I must admit, I used to hate other mothers. They intimidated the living daylights out of me. Their children slept through the night right in spite of teething (and having an ear infection and being only two weeks old). They never bought pre-prepared food, never lost their tempers, and never wistfully fantasized about being 23 again and downing shots of tequila off the naked butts of rock stars.

I don’t hate them any more though.

See, having kids is a great leveler. A baby that sleeps through the night at two months is sure to develop insomnia at two years; kids who grew up on organic foods invariably become KFC junkies after tasting their first Rounder; darling little angels unfailingly morph into bloodthirsty demons seemingly overnight; and perfectly content mothers tend to end up buck naked in the Jacuzzi at office parties, high as a kite and laughing maniacally.

But that’s okay. Because we’re all just doing the best we can. And if we’re not there for one another, who else will be?

What other truths are hidden from new mothers until it’s too late?


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