I finally did it! Replaced my sexy single girl car in racy red with a sensible 5 door family hatchback with boot space for a pushchair. That's the last piece of my pre-baby identity gone. Here's some of my old identity losses so far:
- Collection of lovely fashion stilettos - boxed away (my feet have gone up almost half a shoe size and carrying a wriggly baby in high heels is just asking for trouble)
- Absorbing video game collection - gathering dust (as if I have time to sit down for 2 hours in front of a PS3)
- Bulk box of Alka Seltzer Extra Strength - thrown out (Im not going to be able to party so hard that I need hangover cure)
Now I'm officially a mum, haha, with the family car, the oversized handbag with room for baby toys, the magnolia painted walls (cheap n easy for touch ups), and the obligatory under-eye shadows. I looked into my daughter's eyes earlier and said, look what you've done, you've made me buy us a sensible car, I hope you're pleased with yourself little lady. In response she looked at me smugly and pooped.
She's brilliant :)
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Visitors: A Benevolent Plague
People really do come out of the woodwork when they sniff out the arrival of a new baby, don't they. Not that I'm adverse to the cascade of well wishing cards and tissue-wrapped gifts of yet more pink baby grows, but surely, this can't go on forever! All I do from day to day is breast feed, change nappies and receive guests.
I am beginning to feel like I have given birth to the Messiah. I sent my dad up on a ladder earlier to check if there's a star attached to our chimney. I'm sure Mary and Joseph never had so many long-staying visitors to deal with, all of whom require refreshments and polite hospitality. I'm beginning to run out of teabags, not to mention tolerance towards the great unwashed masses. I see every new visitor that passes my threshold as a walking talking virus mobile. I imagine shiny swine flu molecules on their hands and fluorescent flecks of the common cold strain lurking up nostrils as they paw and breathe all over my fragile newborn angel.
If this relentless visiting schedule is comparable to the birth of baby Jesus, then I wish some of my guests would take a leaf out of the Three Wise Men's book. Take a bow, leave your frankensence and myrrh and then bugger off.
No doubt I sound irrational and unreasonable. I probably am. It's a result of hormones, sleep deprivation, no time alone with my baby, and an obligation to welcome my ex boyfriend's hordes of extended family into my home day after day.
New plan: Place sign on front door that says "Away on babymoon. Back in 2 weeks."
I am beginning to feel like I have given birth to the Messiah. I sent my dad up on a ladder earlier to check if there's a star attached to our chimney. I'm sure Mary and Joseph never had so many long-staying visitors to deal with, all of whom require refreshments and polite hospitality. I'm beginning to run out of teabags, not to mention tolerance towards the great unwashed masses. I see every new visitor that passes my threshold as a walking talking virus mobile. I imagine shiny swine flu molecules on their hands and fluorescent flecks of the common cold strain lurking up nostrils as they paw and breathe all over my fragile newborn angel.
If this relentless visiting schedule is comparable to the birth of baby Jesus, then I wish some of my guests would take a leaf out of the Three Wise Men's book. Take a bow, leave your frankensence and myrrh and then bugger off.
No doubt I sound irrational and unreasonable. I probably am. It's a result of hormones, sleep deprivation, no time alone with my baby, and an obligation to welcome my ex boyfriend's hordes of extended family into my home day after day.
New plan: Place sign on front door that says "Away on babymoon. Back in 2 weeks."
Saturday, 1 January 2011
The Transition to Insanity
When I attended my NCT childbirth class back in November in my effort to be perfectly prepared for the birth, I remember giggling along with the rest of the class when our host described the infamous part of labour known as The Transition. For those of you who don't know, it's just before the pushing part when your uterus is contracting up, your baby is heading down and women tend to go just a little bit mad.
As I heard stories of women deciding to give up and demanding to go home, I had smiled smugly at the person next to me, thinking, Oh, that will never happen to me because I am a cool calm educated woman who has nerves of steel, not to mention a fully paid up NCT subscription
In reality, as I lay there in the delivery room on Christmas Eve, sprawled out face down in a pile of wipe clean bean bags with my bum in the air, I was a little less than rational. Here's a few of my favourite transition ravings!
"Fetch me a doctor, a surgeon, I need a surgeon now! I demand to see a surgeon!"
"No, no, I've had enough of this! I'm going home to get an epidural!"
"Can't you hoover her out?"
"I can't push. You do it."
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
As I heard stories of women deciding to give up and demanding to go home, I had smiled smugly at the person next to me, thinking, Oh, that will never happen to me because I am a cool calm educated woman who has nerves of steel, not to mention a fully paid up NCT subscription
In reality, as I lay there in the delivery room on Christmas Eve, sprawled out face down in a pile of wipe clean bean bags with my bum in the air, I was a little less than rational. Here's a few of my favourite transition ravings!
"Fetch me a doctor, a surgeon, I need a surgeon now! I demand to see a surgeon!"
"No, no, I've had enough of this! I'm going home to get an epidural!"
"Can't you hoover her out?"
"I can't push. You do it."
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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