How do you know that I'm a mummy?

You might look at me and not know that I’m a proud mummy of four.  The small gang of children that I have attached to my hip, does give it away, but there are other clues too, if you look hard enough.

I have a tendency to sway.  No not because the stress of parenting has turned me into a secret drinker, I assume that it is habit.  I seem absolutely unable to stand still.  My youngest daughter is two and whilst we do cuddle, I hardly need to rock her anymore, yet if I am standing for any period of time, you will see a very gentle sway.  I only noticed when a couple of strangers asked me at different times if I had a baby.  I was slightly puzzled until they told me that I was rocking from side to side.  No, no baby, just mild insanity.

I never seem to be able to leave the house with clean clothes.  It’s true.  Children have this way of depositing small amounts of food residue on you when you’re not looking.  I don’t know how they do it.  I will put a clean outfit on in the morning and by lunchtime, it will be stained.  In the rush, I rarely notice but again it will be someone I’m chatting to at the school gate whose attention keeps returning to a place just above my shoulder.  When I check later on, there it is, a great big smear of Weetabix or some other greasy hand print.  My children do love to share everything with me.

The sad state of my car is another giveaway.  Once upon a time, BC (before children) I used to be very car proud.  I may not have had the most amazing car, but it was mine and it was cleaned regularly inside and out.  Not any more.  These days I rarely have time to clean the house, let alone the car which more often than not can be likened to a ‘skip on wheels’.  My children are perfectly house trained and put things in the bin and everything at home, but for some reason, when they are in the car, this training goes out of the window.  Drinks cartons, sweet wrappers and general waste just gets thrown on the floor and the two year old’s car seat needs decontaminating every couple of months as she manages to get everything wedged underneath the cover somehow and I always regret putting my hand underneath as I always get more than I bargained for.  When I dare to make the suggestion to the children that maybe they could take more care in the car, they look at me and tell me that there isn’t a bin, so what are they supposed to do?

My bag, once a small and wondrous thing to behold, is now a practical monstrosity.  Those were the days, when you could leave the house with a small bag, just big enough to hold the essentials of life.  Somewhere, I still have my wrist purse from my night-clubbing days.  These days it needs to be the bag equivalent of granny pants.  Big, comfy and holds everything in.  I still have my essentials in there, but added to that we have to have wipes, spare nappies, emergency snacks, spare door keys, pens, notebooks, pretty much everything bar the kitchen sink.  Once the children are all grown up, I will celebrate by buying a really expensive, impractical, small bag and it will be amazing.

Along with lovely bags, so the sexy shoes have gone out of the window too.  Yes, you guessed it – for something rather more practical and boring.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not yet in Hush Puppies, but the one remaining pair of heels that I own are stuck in the back of the wardrobe covered in an inch of dust.  I live in trainers most of the time.  Easy to wear, easy to put on and easy on the feet when you are running around all day after the children.  I fell in love with a pair of black suede boots in Fat Face last year.  They are gorgeous and I love them.  Just below the knee, zip up boots with a wedge heel.  I swoon at them regularly.  Do I wear them?  No!  I did try.  When I first bought them, I wore them all the time.  I remember going to a music class with A and scrabbling around on the floor in my lovely boots and they drove me crazy and in the end I took them off.  They are rubbish for walking, rubbish for driving and impossible to run in, so swooning at them is about all I can do.

I think the final clue would come from my undies drawer.  Not that anyone ever rummages through that, shudder to think, but having children has also made me change tack when I buy underwear.  Long gone are the sexy lingerie days.  Apart from the fact that I am too tired to consider unleashing such garments on my poor unsuspecting husband, I really don’t have the time to peruse the lingerie section when accompanied by at least one bad-tempered child.  I can just see their reaction if I asked them their opinion on some racy black number.  So, once again, it’s practical and usually the same as I bought the last time so I can grab it quickly without having to give it much thought.  Then there is the general grey, washed out look that my undies generally have these days.  I don’t always have time to double check that I have no whites in with my coloured washes and you can pretty much guarantee that when I empty the washing machine, there lurking in amongst the clothes will be an item or two of my underwear looking a bit grey.

So there you have it.  If there was at all any doubt, I wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, but luckily I do love being a mum, so who needs flashy shoes, sexy undies, tiny bags or dignity.  Not me!