I need my mommy halo. I have selfishly wanted to pee alone and enjoyed the bliss of drugs during labor. And now I'm pregnant again! When will it arrive?
Humor Parenting

Excuse Me, But Where’s My Mommy Halo?

I need my mommy halo. I have selfishly wanted to pee alone and enjoyed the bliss of drugs during labor. And now I'm pregnant again! When will it arrive?

By Michelle Tan of The Secret Diary of Agent Spitback

To the person in charge of giving out mommy halos,

Excuse me, but where’s my mommy halo? I am not sure, but was it an honest mistake that you missed me when you were giving them out?

You know, the halo I pre-pre-ordered when I found out I was pregnant with my first child? Gold-plated, self-illuminating, limited edition, and monogrammed with pre-paid postage?

The one that would instantly flip my base human desires and make me “good,” almost saintly, in fact?

The halo that would magically turn off my selfish desires, my mothertrucking swearing ways, my Pina Colada sun downing habit, my killer stiletto fetishes and junk food addiction, and my pole dancing impulses and somehow turn me into a softly spoken, calm and patient Mother Teresa, paragon of high moral virtue and lover of high fiber but completely tasteless breakfasts?

I was quite disappointed that even though I pre-ordered the halo before the official due date of my first child, it never arrived. I am almost ashamed to say that I had to forego my drug-free, 100% natural birth plan in which I would crawl on my hands and knees and give birth on my garden bed, in tune to the chirping of the birds, and instead had to have my baby in a hospital. Worse, I even had the audacity to ask for — no, demand — drugs, and the birth was then live broadcasted in 1064 cuss words to one doctor, three nurses and one husband.

I was sure my halo would arrive the next morning, so I bravely ticked the “healthy” option for breakfast as I was, after all, a mother now. My old, unhealthy eating habits would automatically be extinguished, I was sure, but I knew something was wrong when I gagged at the porridge they served and used the wholegrain rye bread as my maternity pad. I made my husband buy me a Krispy Kreme and a Big Mac meal for breakfast because my body demanded them. My body just could not process that it was a mother now and that I was supposed to LIKE eating food that I cannot spell or pronounce — like kale, chia or quinoa.

With the birth of my child, I should have the patience of a pastry chef creating a meringue, but unfortunately, without my halo, I have had the patience of a sleep-deprived and horny long-distance truck driver, the fog horn blasting on his way back home because the chili is not settling in his tummy and threatening to expel itself. I have fog-horned when the baby cried, baptizing me in pee; I have fog-horned when the baby poo-ed and I had to scrape poo from under my nails; and I have fog-horned when the baby did not sleep for ten hours straight and I knew I had laundry to wash, dirty dishes in the sink to do and groceries to buy.

Please, I really need my halo as I have been so incredibly selfish in just wanting to take a nap, pee alone, have a long, hot bath and a proper, hot meal. I can’t believe how selfish I have been for not enjoying being someone’s 24/7 human pacifier, sling and mattress.

I have been so selfish in wanting to have time to myself to read a book, have a long bath or just meet my friends for a coffee. How incredibly selfish can a mother be for wanting to do things for herself and be alone once in a while?

I also need my halo as the amount of lying I have been doing has simply gotten out of hand. I have told many lies in my life – lying to get into that hot club, lying to the hot guy and then lying to my parents about trying to meet that hot guy — but the lies were supposed to end when I became a mother, or so I thought. I swear the amount of lying I have been doing as a mother makes me qualified to be the next presidential candidate.

I have lied to my toddler, telling him that the TV is broken, the toy shop is closed and there are no veggies hidden in the bolognaise sauce. I even told him that a raisin was candy! I did not bat an eyelid when I drew the curtains in the house and told my toddler that the outside was now dark and that it was time for bed because I really wanted to just lie down and watch Netflix, even though it was only 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

My house is a total mess, I have not done any shopping, there is no food or alcohol, and worse, no more cake, and frankly, I don’t really care anymore. So I implore you to send my halo as soon as possible before it’s too late and I run out of baby wipes.

I just hope my halo will arrive in time to stop my child from inscribing on my headstone:

“El, beloved wife and mother, conniving liar at dental and medical vaccination appointments, well known cheat of hidden carrots and lentil in bolognaise sauce and thief of Halloween bags; beyond maternal redemption, banned in all 213 playgroups within the 50 km radius of her home.

An imperfect mother who did love her children perfectly but would not share her candy.

She tried. She really did.

But her halo just never turned up.”

Excuse me, but I really need you to send that fucking mommy halo over NOW.

Because I just found out that I am expecting my second child.

Warm Regards,

El

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About the Author

Michelle Tan is the absurdist comic writer and certified life nonsense expert behind The Secret Diary of Agent Spitback, a fictionalized blog about a newbie mummy’s nonsense in trying to survive the world’s most dangerous place in the world — the school playground. Some call her genius, some call her dribble and some, like her three children, just call her “Mummy.” Her nonsense has also been published on HuffingtonPost and Babble. Catch more of her shenanigans on Facebook and Twitter. She is determined to be the World’s First Nonsense Blogger in Nothing Important.