The infamous yellow bikini I wore even 10kgs later

“Strike while the iron is hot” they say. So, here I am, only a day after the intro, typing up another post. The feedback I got was that I should be me, blunt, unfiltered, brick face, Zoe. Here goes. This post is bound to ruffle a few feathers, but I don’t want to offend anyone. Remember, at the end of the day I am just me and entitled to my own opinion. (Please don’t unfollow me, hehe).

Ok, I want to talk about a certain ‘baby search’ that is on once a year. You all know the one. Your friends asked you to vote for their bubs via your Facebook feed. Now, I love the brand and my kids live in their stuff but the system is flawed! Your child can have the looks of Irina Shayk and Brad Pitt (circa 2000) and still never win. IT’S A POPULARITY CONTEST!!!!! As luck would have it the winners are always cute, but this doesn’t mean all the other babies that enter aren’t. Think about it. You have to post the link, and beg your friends to go and vote. They can only vote once, and chances are half of your friends have another friend they like just as much as you whose child is also entered, so they don’t vote at all so as to not offend anyone. Then there are the mummy bloggers and the #instacelebrities, who have thousands if not millions of followers that vote for that particular child. Hmmmm, you do the math.

If you really feel the need for validation as to whether your child is as cute as you think he/she is in your head then be smart. Go to an agency, enrol them and wait and see if people hire your child for jobs. Simple! I mean, I can’t imagine any brand casting baby Quasimodo as their ambassador. Now I realise there are some people who just do it for a bit of fun and, ok, that’s fine. I just hope that your toddler never finds out you entered them and they LOST. I’m having flashbacks as I write this to the bikini contest my mother entered me into when I was seven. We used to go camping every summer at Coffs Harbour with all the extended family and, I can honestly say, I was the only child in that pageant that didn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes. Plus, I had a mother that loved to overfeed me because in my ethnic background you show your love with food. The judges may have even thought I was only wearing half a swimsuit as my thighs were gobbling up my bikini bottoms. Hey, it could have even been that they thought I wasn’t in the correct age bracket as I had cleavage by age three and a half. #fatkidproblems Needless to say I did not win, nor did I have any hope of winning, EVER.

Ok, so I’m attaching a photo of my child. If any of you have connections with any modelling agencies, hook me up. She is beyond gorgeous. Apparently she looks exactly like her father.

People always thought I was cruel for describing newborns as resembling a dropped baked potato but, come on, only a very small percentage (mainly cesarean babies) come out cute. The rest of them you need to give a day or two before they grow into their squished face. My firstborn was two weeks overdue and boy was he squished. If I’m being honest he gave me a bit of a fright when the doctors first put him on my chest. I was expecting that ethereal moment when the heavens open up and a ray of light would shine over him while he lay there like an angel glowing in my chest. NO! “Ew” was the first thing that came to mind as he lay there covered in blood and vernix with marks all across his face from the forceps.

At the end of the day, all jokes aside, all we should really wish for are healthy babies and, knock on wood, (spit spit*) that I got and I am very grateful for that blessing.

Thanks for reading. Love you all. -Zoe