The walk of shame

Yesterday I sunk further down into slummieness than ever before (but still had a rather nice day). Here’s a summary:

We got up at 6 a.m. as Pappa Kas wanted us to see a second-hand car at a dealership before he went to work. I staggered out of the bed, prepared Little H, her bottles and other essentials for the day, and off we went even before the neighbors had taken in their morning papers.
After two bus rides and a brisk 10 minutes walk we arrived at the Car Dealership, only to discover that the car had been sold the previous evening. As we stood there talking to the sales man I got a whiff of a rather unpleasant but oh-so familiar smell. Looking down at little H’s forced red face it confirmed my suspicions. It was her morning “load”. Good job little lady…
After a quick and discrete change of diaper, our happy family walked along a path following the river towards the city centre of Drammen. It was a lovely morning and my spirits rose. Total family bliss.Pappa Kas had persuaded me to come on this early excursion by offering breakfast at Cafe Grua, a new lovely coffee place we recently have discovered. Of course - when we got there it did not open for another hour. We could see the staff baking inside; we got a whiff of the freshly grinded coffee beans and a sniff of the dark chocolate brownies. Instead we sat down on a bench outside where Little H got her milk and I got a slice of rye bread with Chorizo.

 Soon after we kissed Pappa Kas goodbye outside the Pilates studio (Attic). For once we were the first to arrive in class, as normally we come rushing in 5 minutes after it has started. Little H was also sleeping, not crying her heart out as usual, so more yummy points to us! The class was great as always, 15 mummies, all with their toddlers next to them on their mats, breathing yoga breaths while drawing in their belly buttons, squeezing their pelvises and breastfeeding crying babies at the same time. It is an impressive sight.
After the class my two yummy mummy friends (they are both on their second offspring, and a part of my expert panel) went for a coffee at the local mummy hang-out (Condelica). Despite having jeans in my bag I did not change from my sweat pants, but strolled happily along wearing black cotton drawstring trousers found at the very bottom of my gym-wear drawer. The worst thing was that I did not feel that bad while wearing worn-out comfy clothes. They were rather perfect for my post work-out binge (I had a half a Danish after my sandwich). Also with Little H’s frequent spit ups it was very convenient to wear a washed out t-shirt.
The three of us laughed at going for lunch wearing gym-clothes, having no make-up and flat hair, being the kind of maternity leave mummies we never wanted to be. How could I? I blame the still raging hormones.

It was not until I was alone, having said goodbye to my fellow mummies in comfy lycra, walking through the local shopping street and caught a look of myself in a shop window I realized: I was doing the walk of shame! This was not the walk of shame from my youth, walking down Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow on a Sunday morning wearing last night’s outfit and smudged make-up on my way home from some Art School after- party. This was my new grown up slummy mummy walk of shame! And suddenly it felt like I had one of the worst hang-overs ever.

Will I ever recover?