Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Sad facts of motherhood

Motherhood is awesome. There is nothing compared to the feeling of utter perfection when your baby looks at you so perfectly, expecting nothing but knowing you and loving you as mother without even knowing what love is.

There are amazing discoveries by both parent and child every single day. For example today on our walk, Harry began pointing at random objects in the street that he found interesting with a suggestive "uhhh" noise that he likes to make. He just couldn't stop doing it. He was pointing at people in the street, cars, poles, trees, everything! It was like he was making conversation with me for the first time and the endless potential for future conversation with my child just blew my mind.

There are however, some pretty sad facts that develop along the way. None of these things matter in the long run, but I'd say it's worth noting to uphold my disdain for TV ad depictions  of motherhood (you know what I'm talking about...a mother with perfect make up and spotlessly clean clothes in the middle of the night with a sick child? whatever). I say motherhood is great but it gets pretty smelly and weird.
How about say let's just skip this nappy change ey? I've still gotta do my hair love

So in the spirit of keeping it real, here are my top sad fact experiences of motherhood:

1. My nipples are now so long from breast feeding it has literally gotten in the way of me closing plastic lid. That's all there is to say about that.

2. I've acquired a very unhealthy obsession around not waking the baby. I've scolded my sick husband for coughing too loudly. I've commando crawled out of the baby's room as he slept Catherine Zeta-Jones style. I've banned all post box checks in the house during nap times because I have a theory that the swinging noise the post box makes wake the baby. I've peed in the middle of the night and opted to flush it in the morning because it will wake the baby (like how I hid this one in the middle? Like a guilty puddle). I've gotten superstitious about the bedtime story book choice because I know for damn sure that he never sleeps through when we read that Wombat book.

3. The kid friendly foods I've been cooking are adult aorta unfriendly. Lashings of bacon, douse it with cheese, dress it up with some sort of veg and pasta, bung it in the oven and bob's your uncle- the kid loves it, it's easy and tasty but goddam it's getting heavy in my middle. Not to mention I get the lovely task of eating whatever the kid rejects. Here's a sad fact within a sad fact: I am typing this while eating double thick chocolate custard from a tub because the baby didn't like it and it's a waste to throw it out. There's children starving out there for crying out loud, we can't have wasted custard can we. And doubly thick would be doubly criminal.

4. My clothes are never clean. I have walked out of the house knowing there is food vomit on my clothes but know that by having my baby with me, people will probably forgive/tolerate me. The one time I felt it was imperative I have clean clothes on my way out to somewhere, I served Harry's meal to him while wearing pyjamas over my outfit. I then peeled off the food encrusted pyjamas then hightailed it out of food throwing range.

5. I miss my pre-baby friends and the pre-baby me who could be their friend. Since getting pregnant I've moved house to hours away from family and friends whilst my closest friends have moved halfway around the world. There's always the internet, instant messaging and video calls but it's not the same. I'm not there to respond to their texts, I only jump in when I forward the cute photo I just took of my baby. I feel baby-centric and that I can't fully share in other people's lives because I can easily sneak a photo of the baby while I'm watching him but I can't indulge in a juicy girl conversation while watching the baby who is now so scarily fast at zooming around the house and getting into all the places he shouldn't. I've become that mother whose entire Facebook stream is just of her baby and says nothing to no one except in the context of what the baby hypothetically thinks. "Happy Birthday Uncle So-and-So, love Harry". Why can't I just be me who happens to have baby and not someone's mum? Identity issues clearly but this one's too murky for me at this time of the night so let's leave it at that.

So there it is, be warned: Motherhood is awesome but does come with some minor side effects. Nothing that I can't live with anyway. And now, I shall feel vindicated for I typed up that whole thing without the baby waking. The Bananas in Pyjamas book for bedtime strikes again!

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