I blame the camping. Before camping I was functional. BC I was coping with life. BC I was zen mother and loving it. (Okay, maybe not the zen bit.)
And now? Now it ain’t pretty. Yummy Mummy? Hardly. Scrummy Mummy? Not at my place. Instead we have a Real Mummy scale, modelled on the richter scale with slightly less catastrophic results. And I can tell you right now that “scrummy” and “yummy” don’t feature (except in the Mummy’s-gorging-herself-on-food-again sense).
Here it is. The Real Mummy scale: