Howdy again mummies (and mummies to be, and daddies etc etc…)
So, continuing on my theme of the things that people fail to mention to you before you embark on the mummy journey, here’s the next one.
THINGS NOBODY TELLS YOU ABOUT MOTHERHOOD #2: Babies throw you curveballs.
Ok, so I can only really speak for myself here and I only have one baby to date, but blimey has little J surprised me. I’m sure there are a million small things I could mention to you, but here’s the main one:
Little J is a bottle refuser.
This may seem like a small thing. “So what?” you may shrug. But just think about that for a minute. He has so far, in his six months on this planet, refused to have his milk from absolutely anything but my boobs.
When I first realised this, I won’t lie, I felt like I had just been kicked in the face. It dawned on me slowly and very painfully that I couldn’t go out for a long-overdue night out with the girls, I couldn’t join a gym, I couldn’t go and get my hair done – essentially, if J can’t go with me, I can’t bloody go. FACE KICK.
Before I had J, I was convinced that I’d be able to express milk like a pro (or crack out a bit of ready-mixed formula) and therefore enjoy the occasional night out with my much-loved girlies.
Don’t get me wrong, this last six months with this little bab permanently attached to me like a Joey have been the most joyously beautiful of my life. I utterly love being his mum, and genuinely enjoy having my new little buddy around all the time, but I am really seriously in need of a night out now! There’s a nightclub attached to a country club not far from where I live. I’m not mentioning any names, but if you google “halls” and “bredbury”, you might see what I mean. It’s hilariously cheesy and you can stay over in the attached country club hotel. There’s even a resident’s bar that serves post-dancing sandwiches with karaoke until 5am. My girlfriends have promised to take me out as soon as I can persuade my bub to embrace tommee tippee/medela/Avent/NUK (yeah yeah I’ve tried all of them) and let daddy take a shift. This may go against the hippy mummy grain, but the lure of high heels, hot beef butties at 4am, copious amounts of rose wine and dancing to Lionel Ritchie’s “All Night Long” have proven too much to resist.
He’s weaning now, so maybe he will skip the whole bottle stage anyway and move straight to Sunday Roasts, but he still LOVES breastfeeding. I just hope he can give up the boob before he starts university.
One last thing to point out though – apparently, I was a bottle refuser too. Karma, it appears, has decided to bite me on the ass.