Mrs Woog’s Newbie Week – THREE LIL PRINCESSES

I hope you have enjoyed me being on holiday as much as I have enjoyed me being on holiday! Thanks to all my Guest Posters this week who have kept this little blog ticking over. This is the last guest, and she was very well behaved. She even left fresh milk in the fridge and unpacked the dishwasher.
Can’t teach an old dog paddle new tricks

WITH Mrs Woog sunning herself on the glorious Sunshine Coast, I thought I’d share why it’s become safer for me to stick to the side of the pool. The O’Briens have become regulars at the pool of late and I’m not afraid to admit I’m one of those mums who can don a two piece – shorts and a full-length rashie top. I was convinced someone wolf whistled the other day, until I realised they were calling their kid.

Who wouldn’t fall in love with legs that need pruning to the point where Dr Bob Brown is threatening to step in and declare the whole region a World Heritage Area? Then there are the two girls – and I don’t mean Princess Ella and Li’l Holly. A mere 12 months ago I was confidently unloading my weapons of mass lactation at two-hourly intervals. Now, if a public display of bazookas is required, the two small bean bag sacks are hidden behind a muslin wrap. That’s a muslin, not a Muslim. That could be awkward.

Team all this with the fact I resemble a monkey stranded at sea when I swim and you’ve probably guessed water and I aren’t a pretty picture. The Bloke in The Shed actually thinks I look hot in water, but I think he’s just a nookie-starved dad waiting to claim administering mouth-to-mouth to his wife as a “score’’.

One of our latest trips to the pool saw the princesses growing quite confident in the water. For us, it’s pretty important they learn to swim. I mean, seriously, we live on an island state. We can’t ignore the fact that at any moment one of them could fall off the edge into Bass Strait.

At 15 months, Li’l Holly clung to me like Weetbix on a twice-washed shirt. As the afternoon wore on, she began splashing, giggling and performing some impressive bubble blowing – from both ends. Thankfully, the only “floaties” bobbing in the water were the ones strapped to her arms.

As she gained in confidence, so did I. We twirled, we bobbed and we pirouetted. Then it happened. I lost my footing. Suddenly we were in the deep end (also known as the shallow end for most people, but I’m less than 150cms tall, so we’re calling it the deep end). I can’t swim. Have I mentioned that yet? I went into panic stations. One arm started flailing. Large volumes of water were consumed. Something was emanating from my nostrils.

The Bloke in The Shed saw my distress… and laughed. What felt like a whole comedy show later, the giggling subsided and he decided he’d probably best Baywatch us both. He scooped Holly and I up in his arms and dragged us like drowned rats to the side of the pool.

We went to the pool again on the weekend. I sat by the side of the pool, jeans on and watched. Take a lesson from the girl who never graduated out of the tadpoles swimming group at school – stick to the deckchair with a Pina Colada. Far less stressful.

Are you a bikini babe or are you more at home with a bevvy and deckchair?

Kellie O’Brien is a journalist, funny mummy blogger, mum to two princesses and a li’l princess herself, at just 150cms. OK, so that’s being a tad generous. As a breastfeeding mum she misses chocolate, wine … and sleep. She blogs at . You can find her often on Facebook ( ) and far too regularly on Twitter ( ).