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."
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