Do you ever have a moment when you suddenly feel like a mum. I know I am a mum but occasionally I have 'Mummy moments' where it hits me that I actually am a real proper mum an not just filling in for someone Today, for instance, Baby B (who incidentally shall now be renamed Boddler B as she's fast becoming a little lady) and I where walking up to our house from the road and instead of being in my arms as usual she was walking, yes actual walking, holding my hand and I had a flash of pride and an overwhelming feeling of being a mummy. Please tell me you know what I mean? that when you do those little things that only mum's do like lick your finger to wipe snot and banana off their faces (I think I'm becoming my own mum!), or hold their hands while they walk that you get a nice warm feeling just knowing that you made them.
With Boddler B being a big one year old now I'm starting to see my, erm, wisdom transferring onto her. When I hear her little voice trying to say a new word or see her pure concentration when she tries to take another step or when I ask her where her nose is and she actually shows me I feel an overwhelming sense of pride and I'll admit I may shed a tear or two. I am her mum and I taught her those things, gosh I'm clever. Before I had Boddler B the best thing I ever made was quite frankly a mess and now I have made this little perfect being who knows where her head and nose are, I am clearly destined for great things if I can achieve this. Sometimes when we're in a supermarket and I see a kind old lady smile at her while squeezing the potatoes in the veg aisle, by the way why do people squeeze potatoes, aren't they just always hard?, I want to shout "I made that....see that gorgeous perfect girl you're smiling at, I made her, yes me!" and to be honest I wouldn't surprise myself If I actually did say it one day....
However, while I am busy singing my own praises for being the most amazing mother that ever lived (did you not see that Boddler B knows where her nose is?) I realised that she is busy teaching me, as one of my favourite quotes goes "while we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about" and never a truer word is spoken.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
I need a lawn mower.
I'm sure there was a time when I looked sexy? maybe I'm disillusioned and peering through those rose tinted spectacles that hang around my neck like a noose but I'm pretty sure that in the not so distant past I looked, well, sexy.
I fear this time has gone and is never to return. I have just glanced at myself in the mirror and this is what I see: I'm wearing one of Mr B's football shirts which has a nice splattering of yoghurt over the front and a wonderful addition of slobber just above my left boob, the top is teamed with some very fetching and super comfortable chef trousers (also Mr B's) which have a nice patch of wee on the right leg that Baby B kindly left before going to bed. My hair is in need of a wash, I have no make up on and my legs need an industrial lawn mower on them. Isn't Mr B going to feel like a lucky man when he gets in!
I will admit I don't always look quite this slovenly, I do generally get dressed in my clothes, wash but maybe not brush my hair and have a small amount of make up on but I never look sexy anymore. I much prefer over sized cotton knickers to teeny tiny lacy thongs and rather than slipping into silky nighties, I'm much happier pulling on a mismatched pair of snuggly pj's and this made me wonder, is this a mum thing, an age thing or just a lazy cow thing?
Do other women (god I wish I could write 'girls' instead) look such a mess when they are sat at home or is it just me? Do some mum's sit at home in tight fitting jeans with perfect hair while filing their nails or is this only on Desperate Housewives? I'm sure I could get up an hour earlier each day and spend it shaving my legs, trowling on the make up and straightening my unruly hair so its unrecognisable to its natural state but if I'm truly honest I don't think I'm really bothered what I look like at home, Baby B couldn't care less if mummy is sexy and I know for certain Mr B prefers it when I wear a football shirt.. only he would prefer me to leave the pants off.
I fear this time has gone and is never to return. I have just glanced at myself in the mirror and this is what I see: I'm wearing one of Mr B's football shirts which has a nice splattering of yoghurt over the front and a wonderful addition of slobber just above my left boob, the top is teamed with some very fetching and super comfortable chef trousers (also Mr B's) which have a nice patch of wee on the right leg that Baby B kindly left before going to bed. My hair is in need of a wash, I have no make up on and my legs need an industrial lawn mower on them. Isn't Mr B going to feel like a lucky man when he gets in!
I will admit I don't always look quite this slovenly, I do generally get dressed in my clothes, wash but maybe not brush my hair and have a small amount of make up on but I never look sexy anymore. I much prefer over sized cotton knickers to teeny tiny lacy thongs and rather than slipping into silky nighties, I'm much happier pulling on a mismatched pair of snuggly pj's and this made me wonder, is this a mum thing, an age thing or just a lazy cow thing?
Do other women (god I wish I could write 'girls' instead) look such a mess when they are sat at home or is it just me? Do some mum's sit at home in tight fitting jeans with perfect hair while filing their nails or is this only on Desperate Housewives? I'm sure I could get up an hour earlier each day and spend it shaving my legs, trowling on the make up and straightening my unruly hair so its unrecognisable to its natural state but if I'm truly honest I don't think I'm really bothered what I look like at home, Baby B couldn't care less if mummy is sexy and I know for certain Mr B prefers it when I wear a football shirt.. only he would prefer me to leave the pants off.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Don't Say Yes...
So over the festive season I have been sidetracked (read lazy) and have abandoned my beloved blog but I am back now and hopefully I haven't lost any of my wonderful wit and flair for the written word.
Baby B turned 11 months today which means she is 1 in a months time this combined with the beginning of a new decade has made me think about the past few years. I can see myself partying away on the turn of the millennium, aged 16 with (not that I knew it at the time) a pretty good figure, single and happy. It seems like a lifetime ago. Since that night I have moved out of my parents house and into a flat, got a mortgage on a proper house, had several jobs, lost somebody truly amazing, been engaged to the wrong man, moved out of the house I owned, lived like a student with some lovely boys, met the man of my dreams, moved to a wonderful part of the world, got pregnant, moved back near the parents, had a baby and I'm now a SAHM. Wow! when I see it written down like that it seems an awful to have done in 10 years! Yet in some ways I still feel like that hot 16 year old skinny girl (it makes me feel good to say I was skinny and hot no matter how untrue it is) I look at my beautiful baby girl and I wonder how I can possibly look after her because I'm too young. On Christmas day, amidst the piles of torn wrapping paper, empty cardboard boxes and those silly little plastic tag things they insist on putting on ALL toys to make the rush of opening presents impossible, I suddenly wondered where my toast was? I was so used to my mum rushing around forcing us to eat something during the excitement, yes even when I was 25 she did this, that I hadn't realised I was the Mum... it was up to me to make us all eat. It felt very surreal.
I would love to return to that Millennium night and tell myself some things that I think would help me. I think they would be:
Baby B turned 11 months today which means she is 1 in a months time this combined with the beginning of a new decade has made me think about the past few years. I can see myself partying away on the turn of the millennium, aged 16 with (not that I knew it at the time) a pretty good figure, single and happy. It seems like a lifetime ago. Since that night I have moved out of my parents house and into a flat, got a mortgage on a proper house, had several jobs, lost somebody truly amazing, been engaged to the wrong man, moved out of the house I owned, lived like a student with some lovely boys, met the man of my dreams, moved to a wonderful part of the world, got pregnant, moved back near the parents, had a baby and I'm now a SAHM. Wow! when I see it written down like that it seems an awful to have done in 10 years! Yet in some ways I still feel like that hot 16 year old skinny girl (it makes me feel good to say I was skinny and hot no matter how untrue it is) I look at my beautiful baby girl and I wonder how I can possibly look after her because I'm too young. On Christmas day, amidst the piles of torn wrapping paper, empty cardboard boxes and those silly little plastic tag things they insist on putting on ALL toys to make the rush of opening presents impossible, I suddenly wondered where my toast was? I was so used to my mum rushing around forcing us to eat something during the excitement, yes even when I was 25 she did this, that I hadn't realised I was the Mum... it was up to me to make us all eat. It felt very surreal.
I would love to return to that Millennium night and tell myself some things that I think would help me. I think they would be:
- Don't make yourself a life plan, you wont stick to it and you'll be disappointed. Just enjoy what comes your way and don't fret about what doesn't.
- You are NOT fat.
- Drink water, it's the best beauty product around.
- Don't do things just to please other people. You need to please yourself first.
- Listen to your heart. It knows the truth.
- Having a baby is amazing and you will have one when the time is right.
- Don't say yes.
- Treasure every moment you can with the ones you love, you never know when they'll end.
- Study hard and work harder. Don't be a dropout, you'll regret it for the rest of your life.
- Put down that tub of ice cream.
- You are beautiful, don't let anyone tell you you're not.
Would I take my own advice I wonder? Probably not because I've always been a stubborn cow.
Thursday, 3 December 2009
I could pop on a white coat
We had a relativley 'easy' first six months with Baby B, she slept all night long from around 5 weeks, didn't really cry, wasn't particularly ill and was, as I say, a pretty easy baby then we hit the six month mark and teething began and all of sudden it got hard and now she is almost ten months it just gets harder!
Don't get me wrong am I still, and always will be, totally besotted with her, the word love doesn't even begin to sum up how I feel about her but it is tiring, draining, bloody hard work. I cannot remember the last time we had a full nights sleep, sometimes she wakes up crying, sometimes just wanting to play. The other night at half past midnight we were kicking a football around the living room for her, never in my wildest imagination did I think I would be playing football with my nine month old daughter in the middle of the night. Other nights she wakes up in horrible pain with her teeth, this is when I pretend to be a doctor; I get my syringe filled with Calpol and I administer the medicine into her mouth, usually missing her mouth completely and getting the pink sticky liquid all over my arms which I don't realise I've done and I then put my hand in my hair so my hair is then covered in the sugary tar-like substance which means I then have to fumble around for the baby wipes pulling out about 10 at once and trying to wipe the mess away before returning to my doctor duties. Once the medicine is correctly given, out comes my digital thermometer which goes into Baby B's ear and I look all serious as I check the reading. At these times I swear I actually think I could pop on a white coat and do the rounds of A&E.
It's not just the lack of sleep that is difficult though, oh no, Baby B is well and truly on the move, she can crawl at the speed of light, cruise around the furniture and now can race around with her 1st step walker, so there is no getting away from her, she has perfected the 'cling-onto-mummy's-legs-at-all-times' posistion and likes to put it into practice everytime I have a cup of tea, pan of water, or something equally as dangerous in my hands so I'm left trying to very carefully place said item down without so much of drop spilling then I have to try and remove the, suprisingly strong grip of a nine month old girl, from my left leg which once achieved results in an almighty tantrum of 'Vicks first Defence - Supermarket lady' proportions and I'm left with a cold cup of tea and a face full of snot and tears to clean up (and sometimes I have to wipe Baby B's face too...) It is challenging in every sense of the word.
There are times during these nights and tantrums when I wonder how the hell I will get through the next eighteen years in one piece, I already have grey hairs sprouting up all over my head and of course if I tried to actually dye it one day Baby B would be clinging to me so much that she would end up with some very suspicious looking patches all over her skin... And just as I think I can't do it anymore, that I can't listen to another cry or cope with another minute of clawing fingers she turns round and shouts Hiya and plants big sloppy kiss right on my lips and all my worries go away.
Don't get me wrong am I still, and always will be, totally besotted with her, the word love doesn't even begin to sum up how I feel about her but it is tiring, draining, bloody hard work. I cannot remember the last time we had a full nights sleep, sometimes she wakes up crying, sometimes just wanting to play. The other night at half past midnight we were kicking a football around the living room for her, never in my wildest imagination did I think I would be playing football with my nine month old daughter in the middle of the night. Other nights she wakes up in horrible pain with her teeth, this is when I pretend to be a doctor; I get my syringe filled with Calpol and I administer the medicine into her mouth, usually missing her mouth completely and getting the pink sticky liquid all over my arms which I don't realise I've done and I then put my hand in my hair so my hair is then covered in the sugary tar-like substance which means I then have to fumble around for the baby wipes pulling out about 10 at once and trying to wipe the mess away before returning to my doctor duties. Once the medicine is correctly given, out comes my digital thermometer which goes into Baby B's ear and I look all serious as I check the reading. At these times I swear I actually think I could pop on a white coat and do the rounds of A&E.
It's not just the lack of sleep that is difficult though, oh no, Baby B is well and truly on the move, she can crawl at the speed of light, cruise around the furniture and now can race around with her 1st step walker, so there is no getting away from her, she has perfected the 'cling-onto-mummy's-legs-at-all-times' posistion and likes to put it into practice everytime I have a cup of tea, pan of water, or something equally as dangerous in my hands so I'm left trying to very carefully place said item down without so much of drop spilling then I have to try and remove the, suprisingly strong grip of a nine month old girl, from my left leg which once achieved results in an almighty tantrum of 'Vicks first Defence - Supermarket lady' proportions and I'm left with a cold cup of tea and a face full of snot and tears to clean up (and sometimes I have to wipe Baby B's face too...) It is challenging in every sense of the word.
There are times during these nights and tantrums when I wonder how the hell I will get through the next eighteen years in one piece, I already have grey hairs sprouting up all over my head and of course if I tried to actually dye it one day Baby B would be clinging to me so much that she would end up with some very suspicious looking patches all over her skin... And just as I think I can't do it anymore, that I can't listen to another cry or cope with another minute of clawing fingers she turns round and shouts Hiya and plants big sloppy kiss right on my lips and all my worries go away.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
What do Penguins have to do with it?
Autumn is my favourite time of year. I love the colours, the smell, the sounds, I even love the weather, nothing like snuggling up on the sofa with a bowl of Scouse (sorry to those of you not from Liverpool an do not know what this is!) while the wind and rain whirl around outside but the best bit about Autumn is signifies the lead up to Christmas!!!
I have always loved Christmas. I can spend hours trailing around garden centres looking at their amazing decorations and picking out my favourite tree (which incidentally I never actually buy...) but I do make sure I don't start too early, I wont go Christmas crazy until at least the 10th November. I think if I start too early the magic will wear off, so once the 2nd week of November is upon us, there is no stopping me. So imagine my excitement this year with it being Baby B's first ever Christmas! I've visited two Garden Centres already. On went Santa Hats, Reindeer Antlers and sparkly tiaras. We 'oohed' & 'aahed' in the fairy light section, fluffy Robins and talking penguins (although what Penguins have to do with Christmas in any way always confuses me?) were stroked and tickled, all made even more exciting knowing that Baby B is experiencing it all for the very first time... maybe I should actually take her with me next time. I am of course joking, Baby B was very much with me on these magical visits. However all of these things are just the same as I would do any year, the really exciting bit, the bit that I have dreamt of since I was about 10, and it stopped being quite as acceptable, is the thing that childhood dreams are made of, the ultimate Christmas experience, (have I built this up a bit too much?) Visiting Father Christmas' Grotto! For years I have longed to just pop inside the grotto and soak up the amazing magical atmosphere that exists solely inside there, so much so that I was even tempted to apply for a job as an Elf one year..., and this year (but not before December) I can actually go, I have the perfect reason, nobody will wonder what a twenty-something girl is doing lurking around the Toyshop peering into the snowy white walls of Santa's workshop because I am a mum this year, I will proudly walk up to the entrance and pay the probably extortionate entrance price (I'm sure is was about £2 in my day) I will absorb every fairy light and every snowflake, I will smile at each and every Elf and then when the ultimate destination is reached I will place Baby B onto the lap of the perfectly round and jolly, white fluffy bearded Father Christmas, who in my head resembles the one from Santa Claus the Movie but in reality will be more like Billy bob Thornton in Bad Santa, and then I will go home and get out the decorations and the mince pies, put on Santa Claus the Movie and allow the magic of Christmas to wash over me, all the while dreaming about the actual event.
Christmas Eve will be laden with festive music and mince pies. Mr B and I will tuck Baby B into bed and then we will wait for his visit. The following morning we will all snuggle up into bed with our stockings and giggle in glee as we watch Baby B eat all the discarded wrapping paper. We will saunter downstairs after a while and have chocolates followed by breakfast, Baby B will try and pull the tree over, the traditional Christmas telly programmes will be on and then we will all get dressed into our especially bought outfits and we'll do the rounds to the family. I know that in reality it will nothing like this but ssssh don't burst my bubble. So there you go, you now know my love of the Festive time. I am still very much a child at heart and nobody will ever stop this. I am not even asking for anything off Father Christmas this year because I already have everything I could ever want.
I have always loved Christmas. I can spend hours trailing around garden centres looking at their amazing decorations and picking out my favourite tree (which incidentally I never actually buy...) but I do make sure I don't start too early, I wont go Christmas crazy until at least the 10th November. I think if I start too early the magic will wear off, so once the 2nd week of November is upon us, there is no stopping me. So imagine my excitement this year with it being Baby B's first ever Christmas! I've visited two Garden Centres already. On went Santa Hats, Reindeer Antlers and sparkly tiaras. We 'oohed' & 'aahed' in the fairy light section, fluffy Robins and talking penguins (although what Penguins have to do with Christmas in any way always confuses me?) were stroked and tickled, all made even more exciting knowing that Baby B is experiencing it all for the very first time... maybe I should actually take her with me next time. I am of course joking, Baby B was very much with me on these magical visits. However all of these things are just the same as I would do any year, the really exciting bit, the bit that I have dreamt of since I was about 10, and it stopped being quite as acceptable, is the thing that childhood dreams are made of, the ultimate Christmas experience, (have I built this up a bit too much?) Visiting Father Christmas' Grotto! For years I have longed to just pop inside the grotto and soak up the amazing magical atmosphere that exists solely inside there, so much so that I was even tempted to apply for a job as an Elf one year..., and this year (but not before December) I can actually go, I have the perfect reason, nobody will wonder what a twenty-something girl is doing lurking around the Toyshop peering into the snowy white walls of Santa's workshop because I am a mum this year, I will proudly walk up to the entrance and pay the probably extortionate entrance price (I'm sure is was about £2 in my day) I will absorb every fairy light and every snowflake, I will smile at each and every Elf and then when the ultimate destination is reached I will place Baby B onto the lap of the perfectly round and jolly, white fluffy bearded Father Christmas, who in my head resembles the one from Santa Claus the Movie but in reality will be more like Billy bob Thornton in Bad Santa, and then I will go home and get out the decorations and the mince pies, put on Santa Claus the Movie and allow the magic of Christmas to wash over me, all the while dreaming about the actual event.
Christmas Eve will be laden with festive music and mince pies. Mr B and I will tuck Baby B into bed and then we will wait for his visit. The following morning we will all snuggle up into bed with our stockings and giggle in glee as we watch Baby B eat all the discarded wrapping paper. We will saunter downstairs after a while and have chocolates followed by breakfast, Baby B will try and pull the tree over, the traditional Christmas telly programmes will be on and then we will all get dressed into our especially bought outfits and we'll do the rounds to the family. I know that in reality it will nothing like this but ssssh don't burst my bubble. So there you go, you now know my love of the Festive time. I am still very much a child at heart and nobody will ever stop this. I am not even asking for anything off Father Christmas this year because I already have everything I could ever want.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Now Where Did I Put it...?
I am now officially a stay at home mum, although before you think I'm a very lucky lady to be able to have the luxury of staying at home with my angel all day, it is through necessity not ability. I had to leave my previous job as the hours were impossible to fit into our new life and I am unable to find a new one.
At first the whole SAHM thing seemed amazing, I get to spend copious amounts of time with baby b while catching up with friends over a nice lazy lunch or I could spend whole afternoons shopping at leisure, idyllic? except the reality is I spend most of the day chasing round after a 8 month old who likes to touch everything she shouldn't, I can't meet friends for lazy lunch or shopping because they are in work and the other vital flaw in me being a SAHM is that I am unemployed i.e no wage and I miss work. Not the actual 'work' bit (I'm not completely insane!) but I miss the comaraderie of the workplace, I miss the day to day exchange with colleagues and customers alike, I miss gossiping over a cup of tea, I miss dressing up in every piece of jewellery from the lost property box and pretending to be gangster, I miss the quiet late nights laughing at the weird customer who just stumbled into reception (I'm starting to think I shouldn't show any future employers this...) I had never realised until now how much my job shaped me as a person, I was never a girl who's job was their life or anything, I didn't do a super important serious job but it was the kind of job that provided conversation, a place where something was always happening and I thrived on that. Now I kind of feel a bit, well, lost? like a little bit of me has disappeared and I'm not sure where I've put it? but I also know if someone came up to me tomorrow and offered me the perfect job I would hesitate, because being a mum is actually pretty perfect in itself.
At first the whole SAHM thing seemed amazing, I get to spend copious amounts of time with baby b while catching up with friends over a nice lazy lunch or I could spend whole afternoons shopping at leisure, idyllic? except the reality is I spend most of the day chasing round after a 8 month old who likes to touch everything she shouldn't, I can't meet friends for lazy lunch or shopping because they are in work and the other vital flaw in me being a SAHM is that I am unemployed i.e no wage and I miss work. Not the actual 'work' bit (I'm not completely insane!) but I miss the comaraderie of the workplace, I miss the day to day exchange with colleagues and customers alike, I miss gossiping over a cup of tea, I miss dressing up in every piece of jewellery from the lost property box and pretending to be gangster, I miss the quiet late nights laughing at the weird customer who just stumbled into reception (I'm starting to think I shouldn't show any future employers this...) I had never realised until now how much my job shaped me as a person, I was never a girl who's job was their life or anything, I didn't do a super important serious job but it was the kind of job that provided conversation, a place where something was always happening and I thrived on that. Now I kind of feel a bit, well, lost? like a little bit of me has disappeared and I'm not sure where I've put it? but I also know if someone came up to me tomorrow and offered me the perfect job I would hesitate, because being a mum is actually pretty perfect in itself.
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Don't pick up the hand grenade!
I have spent just over 7 months wishing baby B would discover how to move around without my assistance. I have watched her roll from back to front over and over only to cover a pretty short distance before crying because a/ she has got stuck or b/ she got bored. Well my wish came true, Baby B is well and truly on the move and I am a nervous wreck! before I can even blink she is headed towards the DVD player / fire / laptop / hand grenade (I mean plug socket but in my eyes its just as dangerous!) I spend what feels like hours following her around picking items up that I had never before viewed as dangerous. I suddenly realise how many sharp corners, hard surfaces and lethal gadgets are in our front room, everything is a hazard and when I look down and see her hand headed towards the AK57 (or my phone charger) my heart leaps into my throat and she just looks up and giggles totally unaware of the danger that faces her. Now don't worry, I have not gone completely insane, the sensible, reasonable part of me knows that by putting her hand upon a Sony Ericsson phone charger will not cause her harm in anyway but the Mummy part of me suddenly sees the charger cable wrapped around her neck and the plug part lodged in her throat... I can't help it. I just want to pick her up, wrap her in a tog 15 tog duck down duvet and place her in a cot with inflatable sides, although if the cot is inflatable it could burst and she could roll out and bang her head and actually 15 togs is clearly far too heavy so she might just suffocate....
I have decided to spend an entire week 'baby proofing' our house, I need a stair-gate, a fire guard, socket protectors, corner guards, a fridge lock, a drawcord shortner, a radiator cover, a stop slam, a stove guard (I am googling baby safety as I write this) and a Beefeater from the Queen. I can see this list is going to get extremely long, I have only been on one page of one website and there are things I hadn't even thought I would need. Shatter paper for glass... I didn't even think of broken windows.
I am starting to think that I could take this to the extreme, I have just seen a baby helmet for sale on on one website, if I bought this would I actually have to leave it on her all day long just in case? I'm not saying I would ever take risks with Baby B's safety but maybe I'll just lock up the electric cables, cushion off the sharp corners and take any other dangers as they come.
I have decided to spend an entire week 'baby proofing' our house, I need a stair-gate, a fire guard, socket protectors, corner guards, a fridge lock, a drawcord shortner, a radiator cover, a stop slam, a stove guard (I am googling baby safety as I write this) and a Beefeater from the Queen. I can see this list is going to get extremely long, I have only been on one page of one website and there are things I hadn't even thought I would need. Shatter paper for glass... I didn't even think of broken windows.
I am starting to think that I could take this to the extreme, I have just seen a baby helmet for sale on on one website, if I bought this would I actually have to leave it on her all day long just in case? I'm not saying I would ever take risks with Baby B's safety but maybe I'll just lock up the electric cables, cushion off the sharp corners and take any other dangers as they come.
Thursday, 1 October 2009
Bandage Babies.
I was reading my usual 'high-class' literature (read New! magazine) the other day and in the problem pages (because lets face it these are usually the best bits to read!) there was a letter from a girl of 27 who was having problems with her husband and so she was thinking of getting pregnant to bring them closer together and it made me wonder, how many people actually do this? How many fighting struggling couples decide that bringing a tiny third person into their lives will save their relationship? because I'm pretty sure it would never work!
When I fell pregnant I was, in this order, shocked (I was lead to believe I could not have children), terrified, excited, worried, happy. She wasn't planned but I, no, we had faith in our, relatively short relationship of just over one year, to know we could do it. I think if we hadn't been 100% sure of each other, the pregnancy would have ended us let alone actually having the baby. With my mood swings and irrational requests, Mr B had to have the patience of a very mild-mannered Saint on Prozac and had to love me more then he ever thought possible in order for us to survive. Then of course once Baby B arrived a whole new set of challenges awaited, no matter how much of an angel your little one is, you are bound to feel irritable and exhausted, you have a whole batch of new hormones to deal with and if you're like me then you believe nobody else in the whole world can look after your new little bundle like you do, no one puts their nappy on properly, feeds them right, holds them the way they like, not even your beloved other half does it right. Then you have the endless list of decisions that now face you: when does baby move into own room? when do you start weaning? who minds baby when you are lucky enough to go out? what socks does baby wear today? every single decision becomes a joint one and how hard must that be if 9 months ago you would have rather eaten a horses hoof than agree with your husband?
In my, quite possibly wrong, opinion, a baby shouldn't be used as a bandage to a failing relationship. Turning your marriage into a threesome will not save your relationship (unless the third person is not a baby but perhaps someone called Fabio or Candy....) Children are a precious gift they are not a first aid pack filled with magical remedies.
When I fell pregnant I was, in this order, shocked (I was lead to believe I could not have children), terrified, excited, worried, happy. She wasn't planned but I, no, we had faith in our, relatively short relationship of just over one year, to know we could do it. I think if we hadn't been 100% sure of each other, the pregnancy would have ended us let alone actually having the baby. With my mood swings and irrational requests, Mr B had to have the patience of a very mild-mannered Saint on Prozac and had to love me more then he ever thought possible in order for us to survive. Then of course once Baby B arrived a whole new set of challenges awaited, no matter how much of an angel your little one is, you are bound to feel irritable and exhausted, you have a whole batch of new hormones to deal with and if you're like me then you believe nobody else in the whole world can look after your new little bundle like you do, no one puts their nappy on properly, feeds them right, holds them the way they like, not even your beloved other half does it right. Then you have the endless list of decisions that now face you: when does baby move into own room? when do you start weaning? who minds baby when you are lucky enough to go out? what socks does baby wear today? every single decision becomes a joint one and how hard must that be if 9 months ago you would have rather eaten a horses hoof than agree with your husband?
In my, quite possibly wrong, opinion, a baby shouldn't be used as a bandage to a failing relationship. Turning your marriage into a threesome will not save your relationship (unless the third person is not a baby but perhaps someone called Fabio or Candy....) Children are a precious gift they are not a first aid pack filled with magical remedies.
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