Yesterday I had a super day, the kind of day when I only nearly cried once, made a dinner from scratch and kept the house from looking like a squatter’s den. Today is definitely not going the same way.
My son, aka the blue eye fog-horn is exercising his lungs like a pro this morning, if fact if there was an Olympic medal for screaming the place down I’m quite sure he’d win. Now he only got up twice last night, which some might think gives me every reason to feel smug. However after his four fifteen feed William wouldn’t go back to sleep. When baby ain’t sleeping, mamma ain’t sleeping. So I’m not feeling particularly joyful this morning as the fog horn was up just before 7 and has been making himself heard since. This coupled with the current plumbing situation, whereby every time a water outlet is used in this house it sounds like a large ship is coming into harbour you have one very grumpy mum in need of ear plugs.
The animals: Yesterday’s domestic godessness was almost shattered by my two house panthers. During the night feed Marmite was trying to catch a mouse in the living room (a mouse she had brought into the house) thankfully she caught it and took it outside, a few weeks ago she ate one in front of me and William. In the morning as the foghorn was laying on my bed Captain decided it could be a good idea to lick his head. Wrestling a cat is not a fun way to start the day but I’ve seen some of the places that tongue has been, I don’t want it on my baby’s head! Then after making meatballs and leaving them to cool (I made the meatballs, not the cats) Marmite managed to eat two of them. I was only in the next room but she’s a stealthy little git. (That’s when I nearly cried) I then watched both cats coordinate efforts in order to commit murder. There is the body of a large rat and a small bird on my lawn. I suspect this will cause at least one of them to throw their food up on my carpet. Knowing I was furious with her Marmite didn’t enter the house again until hubs got home, and lavished him with affection. (The tart).
So in short yesterday cats bad, baby good. Today I fear all three are off the wagon. William hasn’t settled and I’ve seen the cats staring into a hole by next door’s fence which I suspect they are going to try and use as a means to liberate either a chicken or rabbit in a game of ‘Let’s brutally murder something.’
In other news:
My son has only just stopped crying, I sneezed, he began screaming again. Captain went all wide eyed with concern and rushed over to peek in the Moses basket. Satisfied the baby was okay, he went back to eating Marmite’s biscuits. (God forbid either of them eat their own food.)
We have a plumber coming to check out the noisy pipes. If he fails to return like the last one, I will hunt him down ‘Taken’ style.
My husband brought me Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. I am over the moon and looking forward to reading it, I reckon I’ll have time when William starts school.
William is now four weeks and one day old. I am continually surprised by how quickly he’s changing and how me and hubs made something so beautiful. Being a parent keeps you very busy. Some might say too busy, I’ve got very good and controlling my bladder.
This morning our darling son decided that after being fed and changed he was going to scream the place down unless he was laying on my chest. He looked around his beautiful blue eyes taking in the details of my face (bushy eyebrows, black bags, remains of make up I actually managed to put on yesterday) , and he yawned. Call me silly but if you’re tired why not put less energy into screaming, more into snoozing? Apparently deafening mummy is more fun. EVENTUALLY he fell into a deep sleep and I was able to put him in his basket without him kicking off. I then enjoyed a cup of tea.
My house is disgusting. The kitchen is sanitary, but the mess everywhere else is quite frankly upsetting. My bathroom is crying out for a deep clean but a quick squirt of bleach down the loo will have to suffice for the time being! The sheets need changing on the bed too, our cats are quite partial to napping on the bed, often seeking refuge upstairs if William is being particulary vocal, this means sheets don’t stay clean for long.
I don’t think I put deodorant on today, I’ve washed my hair but had no time to dry it so I currently resemble Hagrid. I only got stretch marks on the top of my legs in the last week of pregnancy. What I don’t understand is why the ones on my left leg are growing? I’m still bleeding *ahem* downstairs, when the hell does that stop? And why does no-one tell you how much blood is involved in labour? I spent a considerable amont of time wondering if I was, in actual fact, dying but I didn’t want to freak out and cause a scene. I can’t help but wonder if personal grooming will be a thing ever again.
In other news:
The f*#king cat has eaten the sausages we were supposed to be having for tea.
This has taken a few hours to write because my son hasn’t stopped screaming.
Sir Legsalot is missing, I have spotted a huge spider stalking round the living room, I suspect a turf war of some form. I have named the new spider Phil Mitchel. If you saw him, you’d understand why.
Yesterday, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to sort through my clothes. My wardrobe is crammed full of winter and maternity clothes and my summer clothes live in a plastic box in the winter months. They’ve been in the box for longer this year because I’ve been too fat (pregnant) to wear them. Optimistically hoping for another couple of months of warm weather I set about reuniting with old favourites from my summer box. However, post baby some of these favourites don’t actually fit yet.
Jeans: Hell no.
Tops that show just a peak of tummy: I think I’ll keep the wrinkly skin sack that was once an almost acceptable tum to myself thanks.
Bodycon dresses: I fear my bodycon days are over.
Self esteem well and truly knocked (hubs had to help me out of a couple of dresses) I moved onto the wardrobes. After removing what was too small and too hideous the wardrobes are now very sparsley populated.
A glass of wine later and having to be rescued from a dress became a slightly fuzzy memory.
This morning I’m feeling rather philosophical. Essentially clothes size is just a number, but the higher the number, the worse I feel about myself. What I need to accept is that my body is never going to be exactly like it was before. From my mum tum to my ladyparts and my now unusual nipple, it’s all changed, but it grew a human. And that’s a pretty awesome thing to do.
In other news:
Sir Legsalot is NOT dead.
I drank wine last night and am feeling it this morning.
William did a giant poo in the early hours, according to hubs, the biggest yet.
Motherhood is hard. Not everybody knows this: People that don’t have children or anything to do with them, people who had children tens of years ago and therefore can’t remember exactly what it’s like early on, people who don’t like children, children themselves, me before I had a child…. the list goes on. Today I had to get myself and William presentable to see the midwife. I have about one good get up and out a week, which was Thursday. Today; not so much. William fed more often last night AND would not settle. This morning he decided a productive use of his time was screaming the place down and pissing all over mummy. Whilst cleaning baby urine of myself, William took the opportunity to throw up all over himself. Whilst this was going on I was attempting to resemble a person capable of looking after a baby and was finding the scream-a-thon hard to deal with. I cried too. What a pair.
All went well at with the midwife, our little chunker is now 10lb 2oz my stitches are healing well (was in two minds about whether I wanted her to check them but so many people have now seen my lady-parts I figured one more wouldn’t hurt), and we’ve been signed off midwife care, huzzarh! Afterwards we met Nanny and Aunty in a local shopping area for coffee. It was quarter to two and the coffee my mother in law brought me was the first drink I’d had all day. William enjoyed cuddles and did his angel baby routine, the one that leads people to believe he’s that calm and collected all the time and I have nothing to complain about. But the truth is I’d sat in the car in tears before meeting them.
In short please bear with us.
I have so many people to see and thank for cards, gifts and kind words after Williams birth but on some days I don’t eat until my husband get s home. I am not a very organised person, and I am terribly forgetful (head like a sieve according to my grandma… she was right), that coupled with baby brain and you have a recipe for something that looks sort of human(ish) but with none of the mental capacities. We appreciate everything we’ve received and we are whole-heartedly thankful, we just might not have got round to telling you yet…
In other news:
I have found my glasses! They were lurking under the sofa with an old smartie, a multitude of cat toys and bird feathers…
William sneezed in my mouth yesterday.
Captain, whilst chasing a fly round the living room during a 2:00am feed, has disposed of a large spider that has been in the corner of our living room so long I had actually become quite attached to it. Fare thee well Sir Legsalot.
Today our son is three weeks old, the pain of childbirth is already a distant memory and my stitches have healed to the point I can sit down on the loo, huzzah!
However my cognitive abilities are somewhat diminished. I’ve lost my glasses. I need them to drive, thankfully I have prescription sunglasses so as long as it remains sunny I can drive without causing a pile -up.(No night time driving for me!) The hunt continues. I spill more drinks then I care to mention, my carpet is now covered in: baby sick, milk, water, squash and the remains of whatever the cats have murdered. I keep forgetting to brush my teeth. I keep forgetting to eat. I forget to drink, then when I do remember, chances are I chuck said drink over the carpet. A lot of my mental miss-haps (I couldn’t confidently tell you the date today) could be cured by sleep. But despite being so tired, sleep doesn’t come that easy.
This morning I’d fed William and gone back upstairs to bed. He was settled in his Moses basket, however he hadn’t gone to sleep like he usually does, so I was already waiting to see if he’d sleep or start screaming. Captain decided to join me in the bed, this involved loud purring, slobbering on my arm and poking me in the face with his paws. Ooooh relaxing.
Back downstairs later on, I look round to see William fast asleep in his basket, Captain curled up on the back of the chair and Marmite sleeping under the table. Felt pretty upset not to be involved in sleep club, took the opportunity to get myself a large drink. Kicked it all over the carpet. Cried. Better luck tomorrow?
This is the post excerpt.
The Bump Chronicles began as a regular whinge on Facebook about how crap (in my opinion) being pregnant feels. After the safe delivery of my rather hefty bundle of joy we progressed to the ‘Postpartum Years’. So two weeks and six days into my full-time role as ‘Mummy’, in between soothing a crying infant, getting covered in all sorts of unsavoury bodily fluids and trying to remember to feed my two house panthers, I thought I’d share snippets of my ‘parenting journey’. Think less epic, life affirming voyage, more traffic jams, faulty brakes, getting ripped off at service stations, throwing up in the car type of journey and I think we’ll be on the same page!