With a newborn baby and a four year old, people ask me…
“How’s it going?”
“How’s your day been?”
Fine I say. It’s going ok, it’s going fine. I’m fine. This is my standard response because no one really wants to know how your day went. Not in detail anyway because what are they supposed to say when you tell them…? Do they really want to know the truth?
My day started at 2am. Breastfeeding, winding, changing nappies. By 4am I had already been vommed on twice and wee’d on once. Angry baby fell asleep on me eventually and after much deliberation I chanced moving her to the swinging chair thing.
Success! Irate baby actually stayed asleep.
Decided to lay down on sofa next to her and shut my eyes. Only for us both to be woken up twenty minutes later by bright eyed cheery 4yr old slamming the door and declaring breakfast time.
Oh fuck it’s 6am.
Thus begins the morning time. An intense hour of crying and whinging and panic. Where I run around trying to find just one sodding pair of matching socks for a child who doesn’t even want to wear pants so why I’m stressing about one Transformers and one PAW Patrol sock I don’t even know.
Husband tries to get ready for work and holds baby whilst I track down nursing bra, brush hair and drink the now cold tea he made for me an hour ago. He has to leave by 7.30. Six weeks in, he’s still not managed it.
School run. One screaming baby. One borderline Mother and apparently one inquisitive nature enthusiast who has to stop and look at every sodding spider web and acorn. Quick kiss at gate. Round trip 40 minutes.
Baby only sleeps in pram when moving so promptly wakes up and starts screaming as we get through the door. Two hours of feeding/ nappy changing/ winding commence. Baby falls asleep on me. After half an hour and certain she is deep in sleep attempt to move to swinging chair.
Vexed baby won’t be conned and opens her eyes and starts screaming. Begin cycle again.
Baby falls asleep, achieve successful chair transfer. Make mad dash for a wee and have breakfast which is really lunch but is actually a bag of crisps and an apple so doesn’t constitute as a meal anyway. Lay down on sofa to nap. Apparently go to sleep.
Get woken up 40 minutes later by the Postman’s cheery ‘it’s Friday knock’.
Can I take a parcel for my neighbour? Sure. As if I don’t have enough shit in this house already.
Do the sleep math. There’s no way she’ll sleep for much longer, not worth me trying to nap again. Put washing machine on. Put tumble dryer on. Do last nights washing up. Despair at state of house.
Baby wakes up, rabid with hunger. We have one hour until sodding baby massage. Plenty of time. It’s only a 15 minute walk. Feed her for thirty minutes, change nappy, load pram. Stuff baby into pram suit. Make mad dash for wee. Baby begins the epic shit process. Great. Just great. Sit there watching her poop, willing her to hurry up.
Epic shit is indeed epic and requires full change of clothes. Getting stressed, running late. Change nappy, change clothes. Rush to wash hands. Return to discover baby is again bloody pooping. Swear a bit. Change nappy. Stuff baby back into pram suit, do that half jog/ walk thing through village. Feel very stressed and hot.
Get to baby massage. Ten minutes late. Feel anxious about walking in and everyone staring at me. Baby is screaming in pram. Bet other babies are all chill and enjoying bollocks mediation music. Bet they don’t shit enough to require an exorcism.
Ring buzzer. Puzzled woman appears. Start to think I am in the wrong place.
No, right place but wrong day. Baby massage doesn’t start until next Friday.
Fuck my life.
School ends in 45mins, no point walking home and then back again for pick up. Have fifty pence in my pocket and no place to go as live in the arse end of nowhere.
Sit on bench outside school. Fucking freezing. Pray it doesn’t rain. Baby starts to cry. Limited options so deploy left tit. Works a charm. Baby warm in pram suit and blanket. Left tit at risk of frost bite.
People start showing up for school pick up. Am in full view of everyone. Worry if ok to breastfeed outside a school. Concerned someone will tell me off or a newsletter will be issued. Will I be the subject of a thread on BabyCentre ?
Carry on regardless. Feel reckless and slightly manic.
Baby falls asleep and settles in pram. Child finishes school. I reckon they work shifts on harassing me so they can keep it going 24/7.
Child is tired and has done “nuffin” at school. Drags feet and prats about all the way home. Until of course, we near the shop for Friday sweeties at which point I am advised to “come along woman”.
So that was how my day was. What can anyone say to that?