10 ways that I’ve abandoned all life effort since having a toddler

After I had a baby, I assumed that after a certain amount of time and what I hoped would be not too much will power, I would revert to my pre-baby self.

Not just physically but in every respect. This did happen for a while at least. I gradually got the hang of the up all night and the latch and the winding and the napping. My old jeans fit again though I was probably stretching the meaning of the word 'fit' somewhat, along with stretching the actual jeans. I found I had a burst of energy after weaning my son where I started running again and making an effort in life and I presumed that this was the way I was going to continue. Then the baby became a fire-breathing, leg-hugging, maniac toddler and all that good behaviour was rapidly undone in the face of dogged, unyielding, toddler belligerence. 10 signs that I've really let myself go since having a toddler 1. I'm back to my post-pregnancy weight. YUSSSSSSS! That's right; for a golden period just before The Child was crawling I had actually managed to claw my way back to my PRE-pregnancy weight. This was a short-lived state for me. After The Child had started crawling and ultimately running rings around me, I retreated back to the chocolate digestives to seek refuge from his increasingly wild toddler rampages. Now I'm back to that squidgy post-pregnancy weight: I'm happy because I can eat deep-fried Mars bars again and The Child is happy because his friend, the Meat Puppet (my belly) is back. 2. I now only drink wine on days of the week that end in a 'y' Go me. 3. Lack of leg shaving Once The Man saw a doctor looking up my vagina while instructing me to cough (The dreaded Cough Test for anyone fortunate enough to not have to experience this indignity) leg-shaving just seemed way down the list of important things to be doing to reconvince The Man of my hotness. 4. Sex with the lights on is now considered exotic and erotic Sometimes someone asks an annoying family admin-related question during foreplay which can spoil the mood somewhat but at this point, there's no room for indignant huffing about whether or not it is appropriate to discuss the overdraft during foreplay. Focus on the fact that (miracle of miracles) the sex is happening. 5. My weekly hair care routine looks like this: Monday – Shower Tuesday – Ponytail Wednesday – Ponytail Thursday – Ponytail Friday – Dry Shampoo Saturday – Bath with child, shampoo not rinsed out properly Sunday – Ponytail 6. Jegging Day is considered quite fancy for me For a while after The Baby was born I went through some kind of sleep-deprived mania where I actually made an effort to do my hair and get dressed every morning. Then that new mum mania wore off; The Baby became The Child and I officially lost the will to care about getting dressed since getting him dressed had become a battle of wills of epic proportions. The leggings were nearly grafted onto me by the time he turned 2. I'm happy to report that I upgraded from leggings to jeggings a few months ago and I'm feeling great for it. There's something about a fake pocket drawn onto a pair of leggings that just screams: "I made the effort." 7. Going to bed at the same time as my toddler son is a MAJOR treat Any night that I am not horizontal at 8 pm is quite exciting, even if I'm just sitting instead of lying like a marooned, elephant on the couch I congratulate myself on being a civilised TV-watching adult. 8. Coffee is more important to me than cake This is BIG. I am a cake-lover, a cake-enthusiast, if I could marry cake and have sex with cake and then give birth to little cupcakes, I would do it, that is how much I love cake. But then the toddler happened and now it's really coffee all the way. It's become more of a medical imperative than a choice. Sorry cake. (And sorry for that graphic cupcake birthing image.) 9. I've given up on the house. Completely. When The Child was a baby, I thought the house was insane but now I realise that those were the halcyon days. Sure, there was laundry and dirty dishes everywhere but at least back then it was all my own doing. Back then The Child was not yet capable of wrecking the place. Now there's laundry and dirty dishes and the unending tide of teddies and cars and rice cakes and crushed Weetabix and human excrement (apparently we've started baby-led potty training unbeknownst to us) to contend with. 10. I honestly don't care how shit my house/face/hair/jeggings look All it takes is one sticky leg-hug from the miniature Joseph Stalin that we live with, to make me happier than if I could still fit in my wedding dress. (F*ck the wedding dress, now I can wear it as a really expensive scarf instead. Result.)