I’ve never really been one to ‘follow’ the Royal family. Like most, I watched Kate and William’s Royal wedding with a glint of envy in my tired eyes (Noah must have been a few weeks old at the time) and yes, I wondered what sex their first child would be and ok, every so often I now find myself wondering what they are going to name their new little princess (in Kate and Williams case the only time princess is ACTUALLY applicable and true in every sense of the word). But besides these big momentous occasions, I’ve never really jumped on the Royal bandwagon.

That is until I saw Kate make her first appearances with both her babies. I mean come on! I don’t look like that on a good day, after training for months and drinking kale smoothies til I pass out. Ok that’s besides the point.

The first time I saw a picture of Kate and her newborn baby boy, Prince George in April 2013, I felt like giving her a big hug. I saw a new mom with all the same anxieties and fears as I had had on the day I became a mom for the first time. I saw a protective mother who just needed some time alone to make sense of all the new feelings and emotions rushing through her tired body. It took me back to all those first time moments when Noah was born, all those first time feelings, the first-time post-baby-sobs, the not knowing, the NEW.

I remember feeling a sadness for her. That she was being robbed of the first special and truly intimate moments because well, she had to be a princess and put her big girl panties on, have her hair and make up done and smile for the cameras.

I remember leaving the hospital with Noah barely able to walk with the adult diaper, sanitary pad between my legs and racing against the clock to get home before my boobs exploded. Would things have been different had I had a personal stylist to groom me before exiting the maternity ward? NO. I didn’t want to be surrounded by thousands of people, especially ones I didn’t know. I wanted to be in the comfort of my own home, alone with my husband and baby. Alone and emotional in my tracksuit pants, oversized nursing bra, an ice bucket for my swollen kankles and an icepack for my vagina which, at the time felt like I was sitting on a birds nest and probably looked a bit like road-kill. That feeling of wondering if things would ever be the same down there. i needed to ponder those thoughts. Alone.

I wanted to be alone in those first few weeks making sense of what just happened. I wanted to get to know the new me. The MOM me.

As happy and overjoyed as I was to finally have my first born in my arms, the thought of having to slap a smile across my face made me want to reach out to Kate Middleton and tell her she didn’t need to hold it all together. Ok in all fairness, she really did need to hold it all together. She Is the Duchess of Cambridge. But I couldn’t help but ache for her, knowing what she must have been feeling, with all those eyes on her and her son.

I know I seem silly saying this because, she is ROYALTY and well I most certainly am NOT. We are separated by such extremes: She lives in a palace, I live in a flat. She wears designer clothes and I wear sale items. She has a cook, a night nurse, a housekeeper, a stylist, a publicist, and a whole freaking team at her disposal. But yet I still cant shake the mommy in me screaming for her to be left alone. I can’t help ignore the one very common thread that runs through both our lives, the fact that we are both mothers.

While I’m sure she is quite comfortable in her luxurious palace and very well taken care of (a far cry from my first few days at home with my newborns) I cant help but want her to experience the fat pants, the dirty hair, the no make up, the not having to shower for press meetings. Because surely these things right of passage? Surely we all need to just BE with nobody in our faces asking a billion questions that hell, we don’t even have the answers to? Surely she should be able to be like the rest of us and ignore our front door bells and nest with our babies without being so closely scrutinized, invaded, obsessed over.

Is it wrong that I feel she is being robbed of privacy even thought yes, she knew what her duties were to be as the Duchess of Cambridge would be? Is it wrong that I wish people would leave her alone so she can bond with her daughter like the rest of us and know what it feels like to take care of her baby on her own.

I’m sure if Kate ever reads this she will tell me to piss off (I’m convinced she uses that word occasionally when William does something to irate her) and to stop being ridiculous. She would tell me to stop feeling sorry for her and her perfect life. She would probably read little snippets of my blog (humor me a little) and learn how I deal with naughty kids who exhaust me to point of cancer scares, live in a flat where we have run out of money to renovate our hideous kitchen (the 90’s called they want it back!) and how we order takeouts so often because I’m too dam tired to cook.

She would get a sneak peak into my somewhat sad and ordinary life (in comparison to hers) and tell me to get over myself, and leave her be in her designer clothes and well-groomed nails and to just bloody well sod off. Because lets face it, do we really enjoy the puke in our hair, the blending of home made baby food, the sleepless nights and the fat pants? Or would we rather have a full time night nurse, a personal chef AND trainer and clothes designed specially to hide our post baby boeps?

Yup that envy is making a kick ass comeback and I’m no longer feeling  so sorry for her, but instead feeling very sorry for myself. Indeed.

Congrats you royal brats.

Love, The mom diaries x

Hi I’m Leigh! Did you enjoy reading this post? I really hope so and would love you to stick around a little longer! Please feel free to browse my blog for other articles or to keep up with all the latest news and to be the first to hear about some great competitions, come and find me me on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. You can also email me directly at leeloobaggins@hotmail.com or simply subscribe below and never worry about missing out!
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