When I was pregnant with Toby I just knew he was a boy. We’d picked a girl’s name just in case (Martha) but I *knew* I was carrying a boy even though we didn’t find out at the scan. I saw myself as a mummy to boys and I was really comfortable with that. With Martha, I didn’t have that sixth sense of our unborn baby’s gender and with my stress levels rising over what to do with Toby’s newborn clothes, we decided to find out. But I didn’t think I wanted a daughter.
When Martha was 4 months old I wrote a post about when to wean, how to know when the time is right and my fears about weaning a baby whose gag reflex was so overactive that even a breastfeed could result in projectile vomiting if she took too big a gulp. Fast forward to Martha at nearly 11 months old and this girl simply loves her food! Here’s how months 6 to 10 went.
I’ve never been one to stare at my reflection for hours on end or spend a fortune on haircuts and manicures, but I’ve also attempted to have a modicum of pride in my appearance. Lately, however, I’ve realised that a few balls have dropped in the juggling act of looking after myself. Here’s my guide to being an unkempt mum.
I was on my way to the gym this afternoon. The car radio was tuned to Radio 2 and Jeremy Vine was on. “So we want to know what programs us to like sweet food. Apparently we should blame the sugar that was in our mother’s breastmilk” Wait? Say what? Slow clap for the Radio 2 production team.
Babies. These tiny little squidgy, helpless bundles who inexplicably produce more fluid than would seem possible and need more ‘stuff’ than you can imagine. The delights of poo, wee and puke start on day one and as they grow so snot, mushed up food, muck and grime are added to the list. This all before they’ve even had a first birthday.