Welcome to the Sh*t Show

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Circle of Hell

The sign on the door read: Welcome New Mamas with a cartoon mug that said “Wine Not?” — because nothing screams postpartum support like a bad pun!

UGH. Jessica rolled her eyes. I could just turn around and make a run for it, she thought, peering into the church basement window.

Ugh. They all look so grim. I better not look like I haven’t showered. I mean, I haven’t… but I better at least look clean.

SHIT. She made eye contact with another mum.

Crap! Wow, those are some huge knockers. Jessica was staring through the window at a mother breastfeeding her baby.

But let’s be honest — we all stare and judge. Don’t act like you don’t.

Luckily for Jess, she’d stuck to formula. She had tried breastfeeding in the early days, but the smell of it made her want to slit her wrists…

“And I feel like I smell. All. The. Time.” said the woman with the boobs out.

Jessica listened in to this peculiar conversation and instantly wanted to nod along.

“I mean, it’s the hormones,” chimed another woman, who looked… rough. She was shoving stale-looking biscuits into her mouth like she was fueling for war.

It’s like you have a baby and forget how to eat like a human.

Ugh, look at her. Crumbs everywhere. OMG, the crumbs are all over that poor baby’s head!

“Hi, welcome! Please come in and take a seat. Everyone’s welcome here!” chirped the woman leading this absolute shit show. “I’m Margaret, by the way — the event organiser.”

Margaret was one of those “warm” looking mums — the kind who’s definitely eaten one too many Easter eggs… and mince pies… and maybe the whole seasonal aisle at Tesco.

STOP IT, Jessica scolded herself.

“And you are?” Margaret asked.

God, does this woman ever shut up? Jessica thought. She loathed small talk — loathed it.

“I’m Jess, and this is my tiny human.” Jessica stood there awkwardly, surrounded by women with their breasts out, unsure of where to look.

They’re all staring at me. Big, round nipples. Sore nipples. Just… nipples everywhere.

“Okay, Jess. Please take a seat and breathe in all the beautiful aromas. Let the hormones in the air work their magic, ahhh,” said Margaret.

“Sorry, WHAT?!” Jessica gagged, half choking on her own vomit. The room fell silent. Even the alien-looking babies stopped and stared.

Margaret looked startled by the outburst and began explaining something about breast milk, oxytocin, yadda yadda. Jessica checked out.

I need to get the fck out of this church,* she muttered.

She heard a faint chuckle from across the circle.

Oh my God. Who laughed? Who was that? That could be my person.

She glanced around and spotted a relatively normal-looking woman opposite her. The woman smiled and gave a little eye roll. Her name tag said “Megan.”

Ah, another normal human!

Jessica chucked her baby changing bag to the floor, held her baby girl Leni in one arm, and shoved a stale biscuit in her mouth with the other.

She sat back and exhaled.

How bad can this be?

Chapter 2: Say Your Name and State Your Trauma

“OKaaaayyyyy, I see we have some new faces — how wonderful!” Margaret beamed, folding her hands together like she’d just won Bake Off.

Has anyone ever told her she sounds like a dying seagull?

“So, as we do every week, we’re going to go around the group and introduce ourselves. Let’s start over… here.”

Margaret looked Jessica dead in the face.

Oh for fck’s sake. Why me? Can’t she tell I’m not one of those friendly humans who enjoys… people?*

Jessica’s face went on a journey of emotions — horror, dread, rage, indigestion.

“UGH. Fine.”

Silence.

“I’m Jess. This is Leni. I’m the mum.”

Jess was chewing gum in a way that screamed I do not want to be here.

“Wonderful… and what brings you in today?” Margaret asked, clinging to the hope that Jess would somehow turn into a ray of sunshine.

What do you think, Margaret? I’m here because, like everyone else, I had a baby and have no bastard clue what I’m doing! Jessica laughed loudly at her own internal monologue.

Everyone else just… stared. Concerned.

One woman furrowed her brows. “Erm… your baby spit up,” she said. Her name tag read Emma.

Emma looked like a bloody fitness model. Hair clean, makeup flawless. HOW?!

What a bitch, Jess thought.

“Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock. That’s what babies do.” Jess grabbed a muslin and dabbed Leni’s mouth.

“OK, that was… lovely. Let’s move on. Emma, how about you? What brings you here, my dear?”

Margaret is testing every last nerve I have.

“Oh, I just really want to learn from everyone and be the best version of myself as we embark on this beautiful journey together.”

“Alright, ChatGPT. Is Emma in the room with us right now?” Jess muttered.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” asked Emma.

“Yes. Yes, there is. This is what I can’t stand about these groups. Everyone chats sh*t! Let’s be real — we’re not here to learn. We’re here because we’re miserable and drowning in breast milk, sweat, and tears!!”

Silence. Again.

Margaret opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again like a confused trout.

So Jess kept going.

“You’re telling me you’re not mad that baby changing facilities are only in women’s restrooms? That you’re fine doing this alone, because every system out there is crap and there’s no decent maternity OR paternity leave?!”

“I haven’t eaten or slept in weeks! And now I come here, and the biscuits are f*cking STALE!”

“Erm… I baked those,” Margaret whispered, face flaming red.

A beat. Then — laughter. Massive, uncontrollable, leg-crossing laughter.

The mums lost it. Even Emma snorted.

Jessica smirked.

Maybe I’ll stay.

Chapter 3: The Cult of Margaret

Beneath the flickering church basement lights, thick with the smell of stale biscuits and instant coffee regret, a low humming begins. And then Margaret, bless her tone-deaf soul, opens her big gob and — oh dear God — starts to sing.

“Good where we’ve been, good where we’re going to… Hey ya, hey ya, hey ya…”

What the serious, actual, literal fck? Jessica blinked twice, wondering if she’d accidentally walked into a cult meeting.

And because the universe has a sick sense of humor, Emma joins — “Hey ya, hey ya, hey ya, hey ya, hey ya…“.

Jessica grabs her baby and bag like she’s mid-evacuation and bolts upright, “Yeah, I’m out” she announces, like a reality show contestant who’s seen one too many weird challenges. But Megan jumps up too and shouts across the room “Hey, you aren’t going anywhere just yet, my postpartum therapist is making me attend this, so you’re in this shit too” and chuckled.

Postpartum therapist? Jessica blinked. Do I need one of those? Do they come with emergency snacks and a mute button? Megan nodded at her and then pointed at the chair, “Trust me, you need this group” and gestured her to sit back down.

“What is this, a mum cult?” Jess asked, half-joking, half-scanning for the nearest exit.

Megan replied with a soft smile, “look none of us want to be here really but it gets us out and away from our husbands and dare I say it, it has been helpful”

“Oh, darling, thank you! But I did ask you already to leave a Google review but I’m yet to see one and I would like to think” Margaret is interrupted.

“Oh shut up!”

Two voices. One moment. Perfect harmony.

Megan and Jess had, without rehearsal, shut Margaret down — and honestly, it was beautiful.

Then — softly, sarcastically — Emma began: “Hey ya, hey ya…”

One by one, the circle joined in. A chant. A protest. A hymn of the unhinged.

The room filled with cheer from the tired mothers and confusion from the babies, but mostly the confusion was from Margaret.

“Well… that’s one way to break the ice,” Margaret murmured, smiling uncertainly as she retrieved a tennis ball — because apparently, this was going to be interactive.

“Oh great. Prop comedy,” muttered Jess. “We’re one tambourine away from a full nervous breakdown.”

Chapter 4: Toss the Trauma

“Next activity! I’ll yell a random word and throw this ball. You catch, shout the first word that comes to mind, and toss it to someone else. No thinking—just blurt and throw.”

Jessica looked around at the tired group of women — Some were asleep, some barely keeping up, others frozen mid-glitch from full-on baby brain.

“Wait, so we have to—” Emma tried to clarify.

“OK, let’s go!” Margaret cut her off.

Oh, even Margaret was getting annoyed at Emma, haha! Brilliant. Serves you right for looking that good, thought Jessica. Bet your nipples don’t even leak.*

“Partner!” Margaret shouted, hurling the ball to Megan.

“Non-existent,” Megan deadpanned, tossing it to Jessica.

Jessica blinked. “Non-existent? Non-existent? Erm… SEX LIFE!”

A pause. Then—snorts, giggles, and one idiot even did a slow clap. What a kiss-ass, Jessica thought.

“OK, quiet in the church please, lets just stay right here” Margaret walked over to Jessica and knelt beside her, smiling with forced concern. “Sweetie… would you like to open up about your sex life with the group?” Jessica naturally felt uncomfortable and looked down at her baby, who somehow managed to fall asleep through this racket.

Jessica gulped. Her face burned. No wit. No sarcasm. Just… nothing. Was it time for her to be vulnerable? Jessica felt very out of depth and unprepared. “Erm, I guess, what I meant to say was”

And suddenly *BLARTTTTTTT* One of the babies did a ginormous fart! It was the kind we all knew all too well, it was definitely a blow out!

“OH NO!!!”

Emma stood, holding her pristine-looking baby like a rugby ball.

Applesauce-colored poo was creeping up the poor thing’s back.

“Hahaah! Saved by the bell hey?” said Jess! “Erm, your baby just did a poo!”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Emma said dryly.

Their eyes met. Sarcastic smiles exchanged. For a second… solidarity.

Megan walked over with Emma to help her change her baby. Perhaps they’re friends, thought Jess. Perhaps they knew each other before having babies, perhaps they met here. I could actually make some new friends here too she thought. Ugh, friends? At my big grown age? Jessica cringed.

“Right, quiet now, lets move on. The next activity is really fun! All of you have a white board and a marker under your chair, please take it out and …”

Slam.

Jessica grabbed her bag, her baby, and her one shred of sanity.

She walked out—and didn’t look back.