… Or it gets mentioned in a blog with names omitted!
Who’s in your club?
Having just watched the 1st episode of the second series of Kay Mellor’s ‘In the Club’ it got me thinking how unexpectedly amazing our mum squad is that we form back whilst we are expecting. Whilst we are unable to reach our own toes or even see our own bikini line to preen them. Ten years ago I’d be questioning which one I was in the group with reference to Carrie, Samantha, Miranda & Charlotte (with the decision to have children so forth ended my aspiration to be Carrie, I’m far to slap dash to be a Charlotte style mum, & not successful enough to be a Miranda style mum)
Those who haven’t attended an antenatal class in a bid to make new friends (this was my top objective, obviously closely followed by how to get my baby out in the quickest, least painful way possible) may have formed Mum Squads with likeminded women at baby groups. Those that met through planned groups like me & the fictional ladies in Mellor’s ‘In the Club’; will most likely watch thinking yes my squad is this varied collection of women too, and I wouldn’t swap them for the world.
As with the Sex in the City girls, the core strengths of the group are: cocktails, brutally honest chat, & a girl gang that has your back. There is just a distinct lack of shoes that cost as much as a bugaboo, & let’s be honest the ‘S’ word we can’t shut up about getting more of isn’t so much sex as sleep these days… Oh & dirty sex isn’t the stuff of swings a la Samantha, but when you’re both too tired to shower before bed!
At no other point in your life will you make friends with people in this way. You are purely brought together by the common goal that you have – attempting to get a human out of your body at a similar point in time. I was pretty screwed up by the antenatal class I attended; & felt I’d failed for having a c-section as a result of the way it was discussed (until doing it naturally with P). But I’d pay the money ten times over to meet the group of women I now name as some of my closest & dearest friends.
You meet over discussions of restless leg syndrome & piles, fearful & excited in equal measure over what’s to come. You bond over leaky boobs, chapped nips, getting less sleep than an inmate in Guantanamo bay, the changing colour of your babies poos, projectile vomit & how much coffee you can get away with drinking if you’re breastfeeding. You form lasting friendships over wine, gin, vodka, coffee (in its standard hot with milk form & the form of espresso martinis) regaining your sex drive, loosing your baby weight, wetting yourself whilst running to loose your baby weight, going back to work & the second babies…
My gang is pretty fucking awesome, initially we were a gang of five, we swelled to eight & then settled at six as life took us in various different directions. These are the women I could text in the middle of the night in the early days as they were all up feeding too, they are the women who knew how I was feeling & said the unspeakable before I’d had a chance to say it. There are no boundaries with the women you have in your birth club. It appears getting a human out via natural means or the sunroof breaks down all barriers. There aren’t taboo subjects. How can there be when you’ve discussed the fact you pooed in labour & your vagina looks similar to a baboons arse with these women after meeting them just a handful of times.
Your club are the best bloody baby book on the planet, a melting pot of baby knowledge picked up from all different sources, a support network in any other situation you’d pay a fortune for.
And we may be a cliché when we go out out, but some of my best nights on record are with my Mum squad. (O.K. like two nights, we’ve only managed two nights out so far, but they were whatever the kids are calling cool these days).
So thanks ladies, its been a pleasure to be on this journey with you; please hang about for the teenage years, I have a feeling I’m going to need you more than ever then 😉