What the hell has just happened to me? In the crazy heatwave of summer 2018 I gave birth (well, had a c section, does that still count? I'm pretty certain it does but I've so not begun to deal with the whole "birth journey," thing, so that will have to wait until another post) to my son. There was no time to recover, no time to learn the job, no time to think thoughts or eat healthily or drink coffee. And now we're at 6 months and I can't get a grip on anything. Every sturdy surface in my life has become covered in metaphorical slime and my sleep deprived fingers can't get a grip. I've spoken to a few other mums about this, "the 6 month effect," I shall now refer to it as, and they agree that it's a pretty tough time. Sleep deprivation/ broken sleep, is teetering at max capacity, babies are getting more active and in need of more involved entertainment and the post baby bod issue, well, for me at least, is impossible to escape from. I tell myself it's because of getting no more than 2 hours sleep at a time. That it's because I'm breastfeeding and need the calories. That it's because I'm so stressed, every, single, day that I just reach for the bad stuff (see also: good/ tasty stuff) as a stress reliever. The year is coming up to my birthday and I usually like to put on my favourite clothes and get a hair cut to celebrate the occasion. Simple pleasures, but I just love that feeling of being my best self on my birthday. It's like an homage to my mum too, for going through all the labour and stuff, all those years ago. It seems nice to note her part in it all. Probably more-so now I see how much it really takes just to survive the parent journey train. This is so much more than running at a brick wall, on a platform, with total faith you'll permeate it and catch the right locomotive. Hey! JK, some magician's dust over 'ere please! A classic example of this: My boob leaked! In baby singing class. The day I chose to get cocky about not wearing breast pads anymore (to try and save money! Wtf? I also foolishly assumed Bb was safely in "supply-regulated-zone.") This was all during the chaos of finding somewhere to live, writing assignments for OU and being a parent. My boob leaked! Visibly. I didn't even care enough to get up and walk out of the group. I didn't even care enough to get up and get my coat to cover it up. I didn't even care enough to cry about it. I'm still wearing the unforgiving grey top with its emblazoned mum-milk glory. There's no mistaking it for baby dribble, or sweat even. Looking back, I recall this happening to an acquaintance of mine, when she was deep in the fog of the early weeks, and I chose to not mention it, in the hope that I wouldn't embarrass her. I realise now, she really couldn't have cared less!
And that's just it, it's been: Six months of not giving a f@?k about myself. Six months of pin point vision on someone else. Six months of 2, half-arsed-attempts to "relax," in a bath. (Don't get me wrong, I have washed, just in that whole, whilst-singing-nursery-ryhmes-to-my-kid kind of a way). I'm pretty sure I need a mini break. Not physically (though, of course, that would be amazing!) A mini break from my head, my insane focus on Bb, and from house hunting! Surely by six months post partum, it's an acceptable time to allow others to take the reigns a bit? To help with the feeding and the bathing (baby's not mine! Although... I'm that tired, too tired to lather)? To help with play and interaction? I feel I should be able to do it all. And that if I don't, I'm in some way letting Bb down? What is with this mum-guilt? In an attempt to re-focus and find some sanity I aim to find 30 (60) minutes of Bb free time this weekend, to read my favourite paper and ponder life a little. Anyone else with me?