Let’s Get Honest

Okay so it’s time to get honest.

Now I don’t want this to make me sound ungrateful. I’m blessed to have my son and he is happy and healthy and I could not ask for more. But that does not mean it is not the hardest job I have ever done.

We spend nine months turning our heads (and bellies) away from those lovely stinky French cheese and the magic dancing juice (also known as vodka). We then spend hours in a horrible amount of pain only to end up shitting ourselves a we bring a baby into the world. Magical moment my arse. I don’t know about you guys but I think the only magical thing is that my vagina is 90% as normal as it was. 
But pregnancy doesn’t just last 9 months does it. You then spend month with the baby pretty much attached to you. Now I get that because our other halves go back to work after a measly two week off we are the ones that have to be the primary caregivers, but come on we deserve a break don’t we? I don’t mean send him away to nanny’s house for a few hours and spend the whole time trying to get back into my oh-so-sexy pants. No I mean you feed him, change that poo-plosion and let me have a bath without me having to beg or asking me how long i’ll be. After the hell my vagina has been through I think I am entitled to an hour soaking in a bubble bath with chocolates, cider and a film. If you want to see my ‘magical’ vagina again you are going to think twice before asking me when i’m getting out of that bath. When you do finally leave your precious little poo monster alone with his dad for the night you think ‘great! I’ll be able to relax’. Then you come home with five bottle and five empty breastmilk pots to wash and sterilise because ‘it’s hard to get things done when you have a baby and a puppy to look after alone’ yet you had managed to get everything done while he was out the night before.

It apparently isn’t just between you and you’re partner anymore is it? Everyone and their dog seems to think it is okay to give you ‘advice’ (funny how their advice sounds more like criticism isn’t it?), or that because you had all the Who’s down in Whosville watching you give birth that they can just walk in while you are breastfeeding or pumping. Seriously. At my son’s ‘Welcome’ party I was in a room pumping, which everyone was aware of, and no less than five people walked in and because they had been drinking it was obviously okay to walk in, sit next to me and stare at my nipple being sucked into a machine. No, because you hadn’t breastfed your child and therefore hadn’t done the pumping thing does NOT mean you are welcome. It is not a spectator sport.

You then have the actual baby to contend with. Puke, Poo, a tiny penis that seems to have great aim considering there is no real control over it from it’s owner, crying, screaming (swear he screams more than a teenage girl?) and everything else in between. Now mine is only coming up to four months old, but I am very aware that in a flash he will be up and walking and talking. Now part of me is all mushy and dreading this because he won’t be a baby anymore. The other part of me is dreading this because a baby is hard enough, but a mobile one? That’s just a shitstorm waiting to happen! 
Like I said i’m grateful that I am able to have a healthy baby and I know many people can’t. But sometimes I really wish I could go out, drink endless amounts of vodka and make out on the floor of the pop up bumper cars behind the club. Granted I would want the guy to be my partner this time or maybe Luke Pasqualino… But for now my late nights are because i’m trying to get a baby to sleep, the only puke down me is not alcohol related and now one glass of wine is enough to get my tipsy (though when I do manage to escape to a pub at least it won’t cost me a lot right?).


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