I've been getting out and about a bit more of late and have been able to observe the Yummy Mummy in her natural habitat - Greenwich Park.
On Saturday afternoon we had a pit-stop in the cafe near the Royal Observatory. Sitting near us were two YMs, both sipping cappucinos while their offspring (always tiny, always perfect) snoozed their Bugaboos beside them. One was offering mummy advice to the other. I say offering but bombarding is probably the more appropriate word as she rattled through colic, dummies (or not), night waking, feeding, weaning, Annabel Karmel, the value of purees and routines in just a few minutes.
I caught dh's eye (we were taking it in turns to pass the girls raisins while we wolfed down carrot cake) and did my 'are you listening to this?' face. He murmured that he was, with a grin. I rolled my eyes and as I responded to Ruth's "More more" request for raisins I tuned back in to their conversation.
The baby of the rookie started mewling (probably trying to say SHUT UP!) so she lifted it out of the pram for a cuddle. The other woman grabbed the poor creature, lifted it up and started assessing its facial features: "Oh she has your nose, your chin, your face shape and A's (presumably hubby) forehead. I've always thought that he has quite a small forehead for a man, and she's definitely inherited it". I felt breathless just listening in to the conversation.
In many ways I envy their relationship - I'd love to have someone I could meet for afternoon tea in the park - but I simply couldn't compete with their superior Yummy Mummy-ness.
