She wiped up my kid’s chuck.

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So we went out to the Socceroos training session / family day yesterday. The timing was a bit off for Hudson’s feeds so meant I needed to feed him in the car on our way there. When Ben was a baby, I didn’t leave the house if he was due for a feed or a nap. The thought of changing up his routine scared the shit out of me! With Hudson, the poor thing, he works around us. Life does not stop when you have a baby, and I’ve quickly figured that out this time around. He’s very resilient because of it, we get to have fun when and where we want, and my anxiety levels are low because I don’t feel restricted. Win / win / win.

Feeding him in the car though meant I couldn’t pick him up to burp him until we got there. For those of you in Melbourne, you’d know yesterday’s winds were record breaking! I’ve never seen anything like it! This made the whole thing harder because here I was carrying a 7kg baby who needed to burp, and was wearing 28 layers of clothes, wrapped up in a 5 metre blanket, while walking through 86km winds. Fun.

As soon as we walk in, Benny wants his face painted. (Well not his face, but his hands. The kid is terrified for whatever reason to have paint on his face. He thinks it’ll ‘hurt’). So he sits down and asks for a number ‘5’, while Jay’s holding the pram so it doesn’t get blown away, and I’m still trying to burp Hudson while he’s squirming around trying to get away from me.

Soon enough, not only does he burp but he chucks. Everywhere. All over himself and all over me. All over the floor and his blanket. Totally missed the burp cloth. Good kid. Love cleaning up chuck.

I thought I got it all when one of the face painting ladys comes over, grabs the chuck cloth and starts wiping up my shoulder. My first reaction was ‘why is this lady touching me’? But as soon as she started the whole “you poor mama, you need some help, let me help…” I instantly thought of legendary queen Constance Hall. This face painting lady was a queen, helping out another queen- me! I normally never let anyone help. I don’t even let my incredible husband Jay help, and god forbid I actually admit I need help and ask for it! But having found Con and reading her posts (albeit only recently- like where have I been?), my standard initial stand offish attitude to a stranger offering help very quickly turned into a proud one. I was proud to let someone help. It doesn’t make me any less of a mama – because I’m a damn good one – it just means that at that moment, I needed another mama to help wipe away the chuck.

She proudly cleaned me up, gave me a warm smile, told me my kids were beautiful, and that I was doing a great job, and got back to painting faces. I love her. I don’t know her, but I love her. I mean, she used a stranger’s dirty burp cloth to wipe away a stranger’s chuck from a stranger’s shoulder. She’s pretty amazing.

So mama/ women/ queens, if you’re like me and don’t allow others to help, let me tell you something. It doesn’t make you a bad mum. It doesn’t make you a weak woman. It doesn’t even mean you can’t do this whole thing on your own (because you know you can). Accepting help just means you needed someone to stand beside you, even if for that brief moment, to help you get back to kicking ass in this whole mum/ woman/ queen thing.

Kat x

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