My Other Man

Confession time: I am in a relationship with someone other than my husband. I know it sounds bad, but I've known him since I was born. I need him in my life - without him I am horrible to be around. Even my husband can see that.

We have something of a fickle relationship, especially of late. I will stay at home, expecting him to arrive as usual, only to find he's nowhere to be found. Worse still, I'll arrange to meet him during the day when both kids are napping, and still he stands me up. Sometimes I wonder why I bother making plans to meet him at all.

Historically, our relationship was a little rocky to start with, but there were some extremely solid years at school when we were as predictable as an old married couple. In my University years, we had some trust issues - I would go for what would seem like days at a time with little contact with him, but I always returned, like a faithful puppy dog, needing him more than ever.

I guess our roughest patch was around the time each of my children were born. Maybe he was jealous at the time I was spending with them. I don't know. Either way, I know that I can never get enough of him, especially not now.

I wonder if you've seen him lately? He seems to have gone AWOL. If you do see him, please tell him to find me directly. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Come. Straight. To. Me.

His name? SLEEP!

Superman & Barbie

You all know the parents: you've seen them before. They're the ones trailing around the supermarkets with a mini Batman or Barbie in tow. Barbie, tottering around in entirely impractical heels and tiara, can be seen pointing out suggested items with her fairy wand, much to Mum or Dad's embarrassment. Batman, meanwhile, is charging through the aisles, forehead creased into a crime-fighting frown, threatening to bump into any precariously stocked shelf at a moment's notice. Pimpled teenage supermarket workers glance nervously at each other, as Batman (or insert your favourite superhero here) rushes past.

Of course you have thought to yourself, 'if I had children, I wouldn't let them get away with that kind of carry on! I'd let them know who's boss.'

Then you have kids yourself.

Well the other day I became one of those parents. My daughter S decided that she wanted to wear her cousin's white flower girl's dress and nothing, NOTHING else would do. This was impossible, not only because wearing white in a NZ summer is a bit ridiculous as it's bound to get stained, but also because she needed to wear said dress to my sister's wedding 2 days from then.

There were tears. And not only from me. I considered it a moral victory that I coerced her into wearing the pink princess dress instead of the white flower girl's dress. Mummy 1, S zero. I didn't really stop to think the whole thing through I'm afraid, as we needed to pick up some things from (you guessed it) the supermarket.

In we went. There were some kindly souls who said my daughter looked 'so cute' or 'like a little angel'. There were also some parents who gave me a knowing sort of smile. All in all I felt a bit foolish.

But S felt like a princess, and I guess that's all that matters.

Knickers

I used to be one of those girls who wore matching underwear. Every day. I was lingerie store's dream customer. Yes thank you very much I WILL have the matching briefs and G. I am ashamed of what I have become, as those days are long gone.

A quick glance through my underwear drawer would be enough to make any man baulk and run a mile. I only stopped to consider the actual vintage of my underwear when, at my sister's hen's night, the following question was posed to her: How old is your fiance's oldest pair of underwear? I watched as her eyes bug out in shock and horror, and she replied, "Oh god. Old. I mean, 3 years maybe?"

If that was enough to cause my sister a certain level of revulsion, then what on earth would she think of the state of mine? I glanced around nervously to see if anyone else in the room would be in the same threadbare boat, but the only other person who appeared to be older than 22 was my mother. I figure as she's pushing 60, she should be in a boat of her own.

My daily staples are size 12 Bonds undies. Undies they are, rather than the more refined 'knickers', as they are plain coloured cotton-lycra mix. Not the sexiest underwear by any means, but undeniably comfortable. I'm not a size 12, I'm more of an 8 really, but with size 12s, you can just relax. These same undies have been stretched to a size 14 and back through 2 pregnancies, so there's not a great deal of elasticity remaining. If you hold them up to the light, you can see through them no trouble at all.

I team the Bonds undies with some once-lovely maternity bras from Bendon. They were originally cream and lacy, but are now that unwell shade of grey that comes of too much washing. I have a couple of the same bras in black, which have lasted the distance better than the cream (pilling notwithstanding).

It's high time I had some new underwear. That is a given. But there are at least 2 factors preventing me from doing so: the sorry state of my bank balance, and the fact that I am still breastfeeding my son.

Thanks to breastfeeding, I have an extremely ample rack at the moment. Sadly, I know from experience that this is not going to last. I will be back to super-dooper-extra-wonderbras as soon as my son is weaned onto a bottle. Is it worth investing in something that is only going to be used for a few months?

I'm sure that if pressed, my husband would happily go and get some replacements for my lingerie drawer, but I know what would likely happen. He would return with something see-through, with strips of fabric held together with bits of string.

Not entirely unlike the state of my existing underwear...