A LOT of my non-mum friends ask me what to expect from motherhood and wonder how life changes. I’ll tell you a story and let you make up your own mind.

I had one of my first nights out a couple of weeks ago — dinner and drinks for my sister-in-law’s hen do at a swanky golf club hotel. Having got my pre-baby body back (well, almost) I decided to wear a new body con dress.

My husband was full of compliments on the outfit, and was obviously feeling a bit jealous I wasn’t wearing it for an evening out with him.

An hour later I get a phone call from him asking me to meet him in the car park in five minutes. I sneak off between starter and mains and hop in the car before he drives us off to a dark alley nearby. I start undressing. A naughty booty call for a bit of fun?

Unfortunately not.

Ten-week old Aurora had refused a bottle of my finest from her father and demanded her milk directly from me. I’ve obviously bred an au natural kind of baby who screams at the slightest whiff of a plastic teat.

I don’t know why I didn’t just insist that we drive back to the hotel and find a snug corner where I could feed her. But I just didn’t think of that.

A tight, high necked dress and “night off” bra meant I was pretty much sitting there naked. Luckily no one walked past, as it was a slightly inappropriate sight for that class of restaurant.

That’s just a taste of life as a breastfeeding mother. Other joys include not being able to go anywhere without breast pads or sleep in my birthday suit — and being conscious not to sport leaky boob, crumpled boob or lopsided boob.

Accessorising an outfit now has a whole new meaning. I’ve discovered earrings scratch her face when she’s thrashing about over my shoulder with wind and necklaces imprint on her face when she’s napping on my chest. So I’ve swapped the jewellery for an over-the-shoulder cotton number — a crumpled, sick-stained, wet from drool muslin square.

Our social life has also changed; the old me would enjoy a bath, go clothes shopping or go to the gym without thinking anything of it.

The new me considers cooking and doing the washing-up without the baby or completing an Arrow words whilst feeding her as “me” time. A supermarket pizza, watching Strictly on telly and arguing over who should change the next nappy now constitutes our Saturday nights.

The old me would get drunk and dance like a fool in the middle of the dance floor at parties and weddings whereas the new me joins the other sober mums at the back of the room and discusses routines.

On the plus side, I’m having great fun dressing her in baby Christmas outfits!

She looks so adorable, I’ve even bought matching Christmas jumpers for the three of us so we can model for the obligatory cheesy family photoshoot, much to my husband’s dismay.

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