Stop, drop and ask yourself should I really be posting this?

Just a quick post today – I’m meant to be working after all, even if the rest of the country is downing ice-cold beer, eating steak and sausages and frolicking at the beach for Australia Day. *sigh* Why did I get into this business again?

Anyway … a good friend of mine introduced me to this blog a couple of months ago and it is one of the funniest parenting blogs out there and a timely reminder to those parents who think it’s perfectly acceptable to overshare on Facebook. It’s called STFU Parents and invites Facebook users to anonymously submit posts by parents who use the social networking site to inappropriately tell all and sundry about their pregnancy/childbirth/parenting experiences. Check it out – it’s hilariously cringeworthy to see what some people deem appropriate. Placenta milkshake anyone?

I recently took a Facebreak and one of the mitigating factors was the overshare. Some people just don’t know when to stop. There’s the girl who constantly posts about her relationship dramas, the guy who is begging for attention with his oh-woe-is-me updates and let’s not forget the expectant mum or newish mum who keeps her friends updated on every flutter, scan*, child’s bowel movement, food allergies, grazed knee etc etc.

I don’t doubt that my incessant self-promotion, posting endless links to various news stories, blogs, YouTube clips and mindless rants don’t irk some of the masses out there but I am very mindful about what I do and don’t post. Some users forget ONCE IT’S ONLINE IT’S THERE FOREVER and what you post isn’t just between you and a couple of mates it’s there for EVERYONE to see.

Now expectant parents I understand you’re excited – I know I am – but do you really think anyone else cares about your bouts of morning sickness, the fact you’re constipated or have gas? No, no they don’t. I’m sorry. It’s time to step away from the keyboard.

Don’t even get me started on the posting of ultrasound photos or the album containing hundred of photos of one-week old Lou-Lou laying in various positions. I get it, you’re over-the-moon you have just created a life, it’s amazing and your bundle of joy is precious but why not pull back a little and just post  a handful of the best photos? Clicking ‘next’ 3000 times is giving your friends RSI.

Here is a question to ask yourselves before hitting ‘post’ – “how would I feel if my parents posted these photos of me and gave me a digital footprint before I even knew what a digital footprint was?” Remember – it will be out there somewhere in cyberspace FOREVER. I doubt cherub-cheeked Lou-Lou is going to be thanking her parents in years to come for posting that photo of her using the potty for the first time. Something to think about.

And on that note – happy Australia Day lovers and have an ice-cold beer for me.

Maternally yours, I-Hope-I-Don’t-End-Up-Being-A-Hypocrite-And-Do-Exactly-What-I’ve-Just-Blogged-About

*I admit I did post about the 20-week scan but only because it was in the public’s interest to know baby Predator will not be cursed with Hobbit-like feet.

Pregnancy is the tits

Nineteen weeks pregnant and loving myself sick.

Last week I came across this awesome article written by the fabulous Jess Rudd – that’s right the daughter of Australia’s former PM now Foreign Affairs Minister Kevin ’07 Rudd. Jess, who is pregnant herself, is a published author and has written various columns for an assortment of publications such as Mamamia and Vogue.

This particular article really struck a chord with me and I found myself agreeing with every word. If you’re too lazy to have a read here is a quick summary. Jess discusses how since becoming pregnant her body image has changed for the better. Instead of spending countless moments primping and preening her body until it’s bikini-ready Miss Rudd has embraced her changing body with aplomb.

Here is an excerpt …

I would body brush for about a fortnight beforehand and scrub with about half a kilo of something with the consistency of liquid sandpaper.

Then I would engage in what can only be described as deforestation with the help of my good friends Veet, Nair and Venus.

I would obsess over every ingrown hair, spot on my back, pimple on my chin. Should I put some concealer on that? Maybe if I put giant sunglasses on nobody will notice I have a pimple on my chin. So logical.

I would then marinade in self-tan, paint my toes in a bronze-enhancing nail polish, find a sarong or kaftan to cover up all my hard work and waddle down to the beach or pool wrapped in a towel.

Now for the reveal. Suck gut in. Unwrap towel. Slide into water and hope to God nobody is looking.

Ridiculous, isn’t it?

This time getting bikini ready went something like this. Remove clothes. Apply sunscreen. Put on bikini. Grab hat, towel and thongs. Head for pool.

Eighteen weeks of alpine-white baby bump stuck out and proud from my torso. Blue veins beamed through the paleness of my fresh-out-of-Beijing-winter chest. There was a pimple on my cheek, a skin tag under my arm and a few millimetres of fuzz on my legs.

I’ve never felt more fabulous.

As someone who spends countless hours watching what I eat, moisturising, spray-tanning, exfoliating, de-fuzzing and working out at the gym I can certainly relate. I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with my body and for the first time in my life I’m actually starting to appreciate it and what it can do. Instead of lambasting myself on those days when I just can’t run a step further or despising myself for eating that extra row of Dairy Milk I take pride in the fact that despite its imperfections my body is helping to create a life. That is not only ‘miraculous’ as Jess put it but bloody impressive.

Like Jess this revelation occurred to me when about a week ago I slipped into my own bikini. Instead of the agonising sprint to the water silently wishing I was invisible, I strolled down to the shoreline and sauntered into the ocean without a care in the world. I actually felt proud of my body and didn’t care who was watching. Adding to my boost in confidence was the boost in my chest size. That’s right lovers I now have an impressive pair of breasts. – no longer am I a member of the A-team my boobs actually fill out a bikini top. Another miracle.

Now I’m not going to lie, I still am meticulous about what I eat, work out at least three times a week, apply fake tan, shave my legs and lather myself in moisturiser every day but instead of doing this out of sheer vanity it’s more as a way of saying thank you to my body for the amazing job it is doing.

I’m also starting to realise that one day this little human growing inside of me is going to need a positive role model when it comes to self-worth and body image. If I’m always picking faults with my own body then he/she will start to criticise their own self-worth and body. So I’m making a change – from now on I’m going to mentally pay myself a little compliment each time I look in the mirror and admire my fit, healthy, baby-making body for what it is. I suggest you all do the same.

Maternally yours, Big Boobs McGee.