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Why the Duchess is My Mom Hero

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She's my hero.

I had five children via natural childbirth and I can assure you by the third one if someone had brought in a pair of heels and the press corp I'd have had a few choice words to say to my handsome prince.

None of them flattering or probably very loving.

Absolutely none of them ladylike.

Sure, she has help. Sure, she has make up and hair people and a stylist and, dear Lord in Heaven I pray, a shit TON of drugs on board, but it is still all her. Standing out there on those gorgeous, tippy heels, holding her newborn angel of a prince, smiling for the world graciously because she promised she would do so.

It is part of the deal. Part of what she signed up for when she decided to love her prince.

And I think she is amazing.

As I sit here in my kitchen munching down cookies with crumbs in my lap and second day hair and NO newborn, I am in awe of her.

Now take her home, William. Get her a sitz bath and some numbing spray and a fuzzy pair of slippers.

She's a princess, for the love.


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