Making it out of the house with a baby – Mission only just possible.

As the end of my maternity leave draws closer, I find myself trying to cram in as many activities as possible in with Wills. I feel annoyed that I didn’t do more earlier, but such is life. I’m just hoping that not taking him to every conceivable baby group from the moment he drew his first breath, won’t have a long term negative impact on his life…

‘So, Mrs Warwick, how do you feel being the mother of the most infamous drug lord/murderer/dictator on the planet?’

‘…. urrrm, obviously I’m very sad, if only I’d taken him to baby mingle/my kid’s better than yours/parenting – you’re doing it wrong, he’d be a well adjusted surgeon instead of a drug lord/murderer/dictator. I knew I’d screw him up!’


Okay so probably not that bad, and I’d like to point out baby groups are fantastic things to join but I just don’t like having them shoved down my throat. I always thought I’d join loads. But then I actually had a baby. And when hubs went back to work, I was frightened to take him out on my own; what if he cries and I can’t stop him? What if I don’t have enough food/nappies/spare clothes? What if I have a car accident on the way? A million different anxieties, so I stayed in. I cuddled him, I cried sometimes and my god did I want to get out the house, but I felt tethered to it.

I still occasionally feel like that. Leaving the house with a little one is a monumental pain in the arse. It’s the reason why we pretty much NEVER do anything spontaneous. Yes ‘popping’ over for a cupper is fabulous in theory but it’s no longer an option. Because this is how leaving the house goes for me:

Dress baby in something clean and presentable, go downstairs to pack the bag, Baby throws up all over himself. Change baby in the next best clean and presentable clothes. Make food to take (just in case) gather coats etc, realise need more clean nappies, run upstairs to get them. Pack nappies go to put coat on baby. That moment is right when he decides he is hungry, starving  in fact. And why let just me know when he can inform the neighbours too. So I make a bottle, only to discover that William is participating in the worlds SLOWEST FEED EVER competition. Pretty sure he’s the winner. Then I attempt to  burp him. Just. not. happening. Then I have to change his bum. With a fed and clean bottomed baby I head for the front door and realise that now I need a wee. Up the stairs I go. Then because I don’t like taking several trips to the car, I laden myself up like a donkey in an attempt to get everything in the one go. Wrestle Will into car seat, cursing  the fact my car only has three sodding doors. As soon as the belt clicks William throws up over himself. I swear and search for his binky (rag), it’s not in the bag. Back to the house, unlock the door, run round like a mad woman trying the find a sodding binky that’s not already a health hazard, all the while imagining Wills is being kidnapped. Find binky, lock front door, attempt to wipe sick off baby but it’s already gone crusty. Try not to cry with the sheer frustration of it all. Start car. Hear baby gurgling content. Begin drive to destination. Baby stops gurgling. Convince myself that he is in some sort of life threatening situation in the back of the car. Call his name, nothing. Glance quickly over shoulder, as he’s in a rear facing seat, I can only see his feet. Feet are still. Oh god oh god oh god, pull over, undo seat belt contort body round. Baby is awake and frowning. Sigh with relief and curse self for being so silly. Continue on journey. Arrive at destination, frazzled, sweating, pissed off and wanting something stronger than tea!

I am faced with this daunting task every time I attempt to leave the house. Last week I had that PLUS wrangling a cat into his travel carrier, which as he was poorly, there wasn’t too much wrangling.

Did I mention most days we had to get to the vets twice?

So although groups are fantastic there is a hell of a lot of work to be done just to get through the door.

I’m sure it will get easier. When he’s a teenager he might find me so embarrassing he takes the bus…

In other news:

Captain continues to improve. I’ve even yelled at him a couple of times (He has five scratching posts but prefers clawing the sofa, you’d shout at him too.)

Wills is now going to bed earlier, huzzarh! But he’s waking up earlier too (6:15 am, I can’t wake up that early and be nice).

Woke from a nap to find both Marms and Captain joining in on the action, it’s nice to do things together, even if it is sleeping.



Life stresses.

Life is stressful. I’m not saying mine is more so than yours, but the universe has gifted me with a little more than I think is completely fair at them moment.

We are rapidly hurtling towards the end of my maternity leave (I am so thankful that this is a thing here) and I know that soon, I’ll be spending days away from our little boy. I am dreading it. What I don’t need is an ‘Organisational Review’ at work. But that’s what I got. Apparently my role is no longer a role. But there are some new roles I might be interested in (these ‘new roles’ sound suspiciously like the old ones with lower salaries). Although I am in more of a protected position there is no cast-iron guarantee that a job will be available. So I’m indulging in the duller than dull task of job hunting. I honestly can’t think of anything worse! I am not sure my self esteem can take another job hunt, but I’ve grown accustomed to having a roof over my head so it’s going to have to tough it out.

What is beyond frustrating for me is I want to be enjoying time with my son. Not leaving him to be babysat by the TV whilst I trawl through endless jobsites and apply for hundreds of positions to hear nothing back. I HATE applying for jobs. I hate how they try to fancy up roles, but do it to such an extent it is no longer clear what the role is. If you’re lucky enough to get an interview you get the question, you know the one;

Where would you like to see yourself in ten years?

Apparently ‘lying on a beach drinking rum’ is not what employers like to hear.

I can’t bear the thought of leaving my little boy, I feel like I’m betraying him somehow. It’s me and him in the day, until daddy gets home. And soon, for a few days a week, mummy won’t be there.

As much as I’ll enjoy drinking hot tea, talking to adults and not getting chunderd on for a few hours, there’ll no smiles or cuddles or falling asleep in my arms. I’ll miss kissing the back of his neck, I’ll even miss putting his socks back on for the millionth time.

And what will really sting will be sacrificing this precious time with my baby for a pay packet that will undoubtedly be more disappointing then getting a verruca before a pool party.

In other news:

Wills new favourite thing is blowing raspberries, it’s the soundtrack to our life at the moment.

Weaning continues, melon and cucumber appear to be firm favourites.

Captain has been very affectionate towards me today, naturally I’m suspicious.