Football Fatty.

Goal! Charlene cheered her eldest son, while she munched on a hot dog, with fries on the side. Standing there, rugged up against the winter chills, a suburban mum needing something. Charlene was the mother of five sons, born within seven years, all now junior footballers.

She loved her blue-eyed boys dearly, but she spent long hours washing whitey-white football shorts, and piles of sweaters. Ah, hot jam donuts. Yes, Charlene's fleecy lined tracky pants were a bit tighter around her tum and buns. A moment on her lips, a lifetime on her hips, as her grandma used to say. Never mind, all winter warmth, or was she merely fat for football?

Charlene basically thought football was a silly game, a load of fuss about a bit of leather and hot air, kicked around on a field of mud and broken dreams. Just then, there was a bump on the football field. Some other kid had thumped Charlene's eldest, Joshua. 'Bash him back!' Charlene roared in anger. "Oh, umpire, did you see that? I am coming over the fence to get you!"

Charlene's husband stared at her in amazement. His once meek wife, yelling abuse. Quite cathartic. Charlene gulped, wondering where and how those words had come from her mouth. Aghast, she actually tossed her last jam donut into the bin. She stormed off, and sat in the stands.

Charlene had turned into an 'ugly parent'. This was not why she had brought sons into this world of universal love and light, to see them turn into thugs. She had wanted to raise compassionate males, who were aware and kind. Charlene's tuck shop arms quivered. Her bottom lip wobbled. Had it really all come to this?

She had always been such a minion. She did not recall developing such anger management issues before her holy wedlock. Time passing had not been kind to her. Charlene was trying not to blubber. This metamorphosis was not pretty.

The match ended. Her sons ran over to her. "We won!" "I'm hungry!" "I need to pee!" All perfectly normal, thought the young footballers' mother. She gave them the car keys while she caught her breath. Her mother had told Charlene that children were God's little sunbeams. "I must be positive!" she told herself.

Charlene's husband had wandered off to the social club to chair the next team meeting. These team meetings seemed to require many ales. It meant that a large number of males could stand around a barbecue, to see if it worked. Yes, football team meetings were a mystery to the suburban woman, it was their boy's locker room mentality. Charlene did not know what to do, how to develop from this dreadful day.

As the sky darkened, she walked to the car. Joshua had locked the car doors, with himself and his brothers sitting in the car there, grinning. He was being a real sunbeam. Charlene could feel a hot flush blooming. This was what football was doing to her vascular system. She had once been so slim and keen to race off to the altar of love.

She pounded on the car windows, but her charming mud strewn little sunbeams giggled. Another mother strolled past with her well behaved pair of sunbeams. Charlene could see her sniggering in the drizzling rain. Even holistic Christian women know how to swear. Verbs flew from Charlene's florid face, as the football ground's yummy mummies all drove off, feeling smug and superior.

Finally, her youngest son unlocked the car doors. Shivering in anger, but trying to hide it with smiles and gushing chatter, Charlene drove her sunbeams home. She was still feeling like a fat, ugly parent.

The father of these five sunbeams, all sent by God, arrived home with some take away food. It was their family ritual. He could do the hunter gatherer thing. Charlene plated up, and everyone ate their dinner. It was time to wind down for the evening.

After dinner at home, she had them all washed and fast asleep. Football was so exhausting. Charlene kissed each of her boys good night, then came back in half an hour to check them all. Silent, a peaceful evening, a few boy snuffles. Even Joshua had crashed. Adorable, so angelic, when they were all in dreamland.

Her husband was staring at yet more football matches on weekend television. Charlene wondered what the universal divine powers really thought about football. "Leave the dishes, I'll do them," he told her. She'd heard that one so many times before. Yet another lie from one of her tribe of blue-eyed boys. Charlene just knew she would wake up to a pile of congealed plates. The washing machine gurgled with the football shorts, while Charlene quietly washed the dishes.

Time for her shower now. Charlene gazed at her rounded figure. Yes, fate had developed her into a football fatty. Charlene was considering rejoining Weight Watchers, as the years dwindled down, unlike her waistline. Fat shaming was part of her life. God had sent her too many sunbeams. But, the alternative had been niggling at her brain all day. She couldn't be, could she?

Trembling with dread, Charlene stared at the pregnancy test. The universe had its plan for every soul. The pregnancy test sat there, waiting. While she showered, Charlene begged the great universal spirit, as well as her Lord in Heaven above. She was feeling ancient already, she had years of football jocks and socks in front of her, winding down her years. From an optimistic minion to a raving, ugly fat parent, on the sidelines of the future of the adults of tomorrow. They were all God's little sunbeams.

Charlene devoutly hoped there was someone upstairs, listening to her secret, silent prayer. Her husband was definitely the motile one. Or had her egg follicles betrayed her again? She definitely needed to change.

As she rinsed her hair, she prayed. "Please don't let it be twin boys again. If I'm not pregnant, I shall start a diet on Monday. I promise I will never eat hot dogs or yell at the umpire again. Please, say I am only a football fatty!"