Who am I again?

Autumn is here, although it’s one of my favourite times of the year I can’t say I’ve been out and about in its chilly golden glow.

I’m finding leaving the house harder and harder. Leaving the house means washing, getting dressed, trying to make my now very thin and greasy hair acceptable and then packing a massive bag of assorted baby crap. I then have to park, assemble buggy (stroller) remove baby from car put into buggy, attempt to strap in child who is now doing best impression of a plank of wood, bag of assorted baby crap is then attached to buggy handle via intricate Velcro system, blanket placed on baby some sort of toy chucked in for good measure and then off to navigate shops that clearly have no notion of pushchair access because they’ve put shitty piles of crap in the middle of isles already too narrow for buggies. Then I have try and find somewhere to feed my child because he’s screaming blue bloody murder only to stroll into Costa or similar to find that the only sodding clean tables have some dickhead sat with laptop and a latte pretending to be intellectual.

So I order an expensive coffee I can’t drink before it’s cold because I need to feed the foghorn and sit there getting ‘looks’ because, despite my best efforts, the pushchair is in the way. If you’re breastfeeding you have the potential added bonus of people with no idea what boobs are actually for chiming in. Thankfully so far all my milky mamma friends haven’t encountered anything too awful but do get the odd stare.

No thank you.

To top my already incredible mood, Wills has been so fussy it’s untrue. The sound track to most of my day is him crying. It’s exhausting. Yet if we see anybody he’s an angel so they think either I’m a liar or a moron. Ha! I too have been fooled by this, I thought looking after my nephew overnight qualified me in some way to ‘know what it’s like’ to be a mum. What a fucking idiot.

Like I have said before, I am no longer ‘me’ I am ‘we’ and I bloody adore my son but I feel almost bereft. I feel I’ve lost the me I knew and I’m still figuring out who I am now. I’m trying to get used to a whole new set of things to be anxious about or annoyed by.  (There are many.)

I fear that the more upfront slightly ballsy woman I promised to be is turning mousier and mousier, retreating, pyjama clad under a blanket watching crap, mind numbing TV whilst the world passes by.


In other news:

‘Don’t stand on the baby, Captain’, is the phrase of today.

Am baffled by Tesco’s notion of a ‘large’ pumpkin.

The baby is crying. Again.




Author: thebumpchroniclesblog

Thirty year old first time mum, sharing parenthood experiences/fails.

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