This mum’s post about what it feels like after you’ve given birth is all of us

Too true.

Sometimes you see a post online and think 'I could have written that' and that's exactly how I felt when I read this post from fellow mum and parenting blogger. Mummy Mumbles originally posted this Facebook status three years ago, but she recently reshared it and I'm so glad she did because it is so relatable and I think all mums should give it a read. It really is the honest advice you never knew you needed. The original post (which you can click on above and read) is pretty long but here are some of my favourite parts;

The after pains. Pain. After. Who knew? When God designed women to give birth, he well and truly screwed us over.... Your first wee. Take a jug with you and pour it over your bits like you're trying to be a star in some very disturbing porno. It helps. Your first poo. Do not panic. You are not having another baby. It just feels that way. But just remember the size of the thing you pushed out of the front bit, and the prospect of pushing out what's in the back bit won't be quite so daunting. Your bum is not falling out. Or it might be. If you have piles. Which you probably do...  

Their first poo is not actually poo. It's tar. The midwives sneak in over night, fill your baby's nappy with treacle and then test you to see if you know to get rid of it, or to see if you decide to take one look at it and start googling 'why do nappies come pre-filled with marmite?' Your first shower will be like a scene from Carrie. It's normal. It may feel like you'll never be right again and that you'll walk like John Wayne forever, and you might, but you'll feel so much better for the shower. You're literally washing away your sins. (If the baby was born out of wedlock anyway....)

  The hospital food is as bad as it is so that people decide they would rather be in pain and at home than eating 'peaches and custard'. The custard is hot wee with a splash of breast milk mixed in, and the peaches are body parts that have been soaked in sugar over night. And don't eat the chocolate mousse. Just don't. 15. Your tummy is now resembling a balloon that's slowly deflating and feeling very sorry for itself. If you press it, you instantly conclude that it would make a fantastic trampoline for Stuart Little. Or that if you sliced it up right now, the hospital kitchen staff would use it and palm it off as nectarine jelly..

They want you on contraception straight away. Countless midwives will come and talk to you about how fertile you are and how likely you are to become pregnant again. They do however forget one crucial thing- you're never having sex again. You never want to see a penis again. And if one comes near you, you'll most likely destroy it for the sake of women everywhere. The end. Everything's angry. Your brain is angry, your eyes are angry, your tummy, your bladder, your bum. Your vagina isn't angry. It's f@&king livid. Give it a while to calm down but right now, you and she ain't friends... Stop worrying. You're not superwoman. There is no such thing as normal, and there is no such thing as perfect. You are your baby's normal. You are your baby's perfect. They aren't judging you. They are completely reliant on you and being responsible for another human being is not a piece of cake. It's a piece of 'oh my god I can't do this'. You can. And everyday will get easier. Breath mummy. You just grew and pushed out a mini Mitchell brother. There's nothing you can't do. Except sleep. You can't do that anymore.

I never laughed and agreed so much to a post in my life and I think a lot of mums will feel the same. The hospital food bit in particular resonated with me. Sorry ladies it's not a myth. I actually sent a photo of the lasagne I was served in the maternity hospital to my friends because it looked like someone had sat on it. I honestly don't think antenatal classes or baby books are honest enough about what to expect once you hit the delivery room and I always love coming across posts like this from fellow mums on what it's really like. What honest advice would you give a mum-to-be?