Curses on Kate Middleton. It has been but a hair’s breadth of time since we travelled across the pond to London town, where casually strolling through the chilly spring-swept public grounds of Kensington Palace was virtually a daily occurrence.
But did her royal highness have the courtesy to pop before we Saffers flew the UK coop, and afford us a glimpse of the latest addition to the House of Windsor from the manor’s balcony? Nay.
Instead, she seemingly waited for the very nanosecond of our departure before deciding the time had come to introduce the world to Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana. Leaving us lowly commonwealth folk from the former colony to watch from afar, along with the rest of the world. How very rude. And how very un-British.
But, at least there is some consolation in knowing that the dear Duchess bore the burden of childbirth with typical “chin up” English stoicism. Nope, no epidural for this “strong woman” (as some tabloids have taken to calling her) who certainly was not too posh to push. Which apparently makes her worthy of her royal status.
Forget the fact mothers the world over suffer the same fate on a daily basis – albeit minus the midwives or the luxury of a fully equipped medical facility – a large number of whom return to the rice paddies/ coal stoves/ plantation fields moments later, with their newborn babies strapped to their backs…
And where most women look like the, er, ass end of a donkey after enduring this lovely rite of female passage (much less sans painkillers!), Kate stepped out onto the street a few hours later, immaculately groomed and grinning, looking more like someone who had just enjoyed a day at the spa.
For all us mommies who’ve experienced the post-birth glory of lumpy tummy syndrome (contrary to photoshopped media myth, your body does not suddenly snap back from the expanded-uterus-15kg-plus-preparing-to-nurture-life mode it took nine months to perfect), raccoon eyes, stringy hair, splotchy skin and breasts that seemingly start to spontaneously sprout, Kate’s stereotypical baby glow probably had you feeling the teensiest bit inadequate.
A feeling swiftly followed by the intense urge to slap her for being so well put together barely half a day after squeezing a 3.6kg human specimen through her lady bits.
But to all the soon-to-be first timers, or new recruits to the clan of motherhood (and by “new” I mean anyone with an only child up to the age of five) I say, put down the self-flagellation whips. If, like Kate, you had a team of a hair stylist, make-up artist, designer dress maker and personal groomer on call to whisk you into shape while you lay back and sipped on a cup of Earl Grey tea, you too, would look cover-girl worthy after grunting and heaving your way through labour.
After all, ‘Who Can Look Their Best After Childbirth’ has yet to be entered onto the list of official Olympic sports. And at least you don’t have to deal with the pressure of having the world’s media (not to mention the queen mother) watching on, as you sweat you way back to your pre-baby athletic body, within what’s considered an appropriate timeframe. Which, by Ms Middleton’s standards, probably means a week from Friday.
Besides, for all the hoopla and fanfare, personally, I reckon Kate would like nothing more than to be able to slip into a pair of comfort-able tracksuit pants, tie her hair into a topknot and walk around the house with a burp cloth perpetually hanging over her shoulder for months on end, just like the common people...