Pretty Real

We are FamilyThis is our family. Many people have commented how good I look for just giving birth. And I have to say, I felt pretty damn good too. My body is made for birthing apparently. Quick, drugless and healthy. I can not complain. But I feel almost guilty at putting forth just the ‘pretty’ pictures. I feel an almost sense of duty for all mother’s and would-be-mother’s out there to post a more realistic picture.

So here, in pictures, is my family in the week following the miracle of birth.

Mastitis Me

Bal was not supposed to be taking a picture with me in it. I have been in bed at this point for 24 hours straight suffering from boulders-for-boobs that swiftly develops into the more clinically titled ‘Mastitis’. Basically I have a boob infection. Who knew you could get so bloody sick from your breasts. It is 30 degrees and I am under my duvet shivering uncontrollably. After which I pass out/fall asleep, only to wake up for a painful feeding, more sleep, wake up sweating, more feeds, more sleep and more and more feeds. I have a migraine and chills and sweats and body aches. As this picture is taken I am pretty certain I have B.O. I am 100% certain that I’m bra-less and my boobs are leaking inordinate amounts of milk. And I know that I have just finished an intensely painful feeding of Brennyn whereby I introduced her to mommy’s multitude of profanities outside the womb.

I see your brain


Newborn Attitude. Which isn’t so bad as it is reserved solely for the need for ‘booby snacks’. I know this because of motherly instinct and the fact that I can see directly into my daughter’s brain through her nostrils…

Sleep!Exhaustion. Pure and simple.


Miss Monster takes over the household. Look at her! Daddy’s phone, Brennyn’s brand new lavender bankie and Mommy’s remote control. The second picture is either of her evil laughter as she takes over the world, or just pretty much sums up the chaos and mayhem experienced by all of us.

Wad R U Lookin At?This precise look has passed each of our faces at various times while trying to figure our rolls with and amongst each other. “Wad da hell you talkin’ about?”

Purple MassacreAnd finally, the Purple Massacre. The horrifying, inexplicable Purple Massacre. This picture should be entitled ‘I Give Up’. Basically the story goes that Kaya had purple toes and was quite upset that mommy’s were still pink. Now that my belly was gone, I was thrilled to be able to actually reach my toes so agreed to paint them purple so we could ‘match’. Matching is all the rage in toddlerville right now. So while taking off the pink, I ask Kaya to go get the purple for me. She comes running over with a huge smile, undoes the lid all by herself and stands ready over my toes. I presume she’s going to watch as I paint my toes. But I am ready and Kaya is armed. She thinks this is the coolest thing EVER. Before purple goop ends up on the couch or floor or baby, I tell her to go for it. Colour my toes girl! Perhaps it is mommy guilt for not being able to spend enough time with her or maybe it’s all these crazy hormones running amok or maybe it’s just that I have no fight in me to say no to an overly eager toddler, but I let my girl attack my feet with purple polish. The joy on her face in doing so is enough to make me not regret the decision.

This is our family. Not always pretty but always real.


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