If I’d been the Duchess of Cambridge, hours after giving birth…..
Forget the casual grab of Prince William’s hand, I’d have been
leaning on carried down those steps by Hubster.
The hair? Try not washed for three days and still having sweat from labour in it. Nice.
The dress. Seriously. What newly-given-birth woman would choose a fabric with a pale background? As I turned round, there’d be an attractive smear of blood up the back. Possibly also so trickling down my legs.
The makeup? There’d be a bit of blusher to encourage the doctors to let me go home but certainly no more.
The shoes? Well, my ankles would still be swollen from pregnancy so fake ugg boots in winter or flip flops in summer. Scrap that. Flip flops whatever the weather. Yes, even snow.
The baby. In Boo’s case, it would be a new, pink outfit, carefully chosen by my mum for going home. For Beb, well, whatever I threw into my bag, the day before birth. That includes his sister’s cast off pink vests. No one will know.
The siblings meet. Prince George waves sweetly to the waiting press. Boo is dragged to the ward by her grandparents because she hadn’t finished watching Ben and Holly and her new brother presented her with a doll. Not choc. Never to be forgiven.
That, my friends, is why I am only a princess in my head.