Tuesday, 8 November 2016
Let Me Just Warn You
A few hours after you have given birth, been plonked in a wheelchair, wheeled backwards and delivered to the postnatal ward, you will feel like you have literally been beaten to a pulp by a heavy weight champion. You'll hear every other new mothers sigh, every baby apart from yours will cry, and other people's visitors will make you want to drop kick them to the floor through the adjoining curtain. None of this will matter of course as you spend endless hours staring at the tiny little human you made, lying there in a see through box.
Prepare yourself in advance for the sight of any children that already exist in your life, as it will shock you to the core. Your once cute son, daughter, niece, nephew have now warped in to actual manbeasts. How did you never recognise how gargantuan their heads were? And what's with those enormous eyebrows and saucer like eyes? Grotesque. Be warned.
You might become a bit of a shit friend. Or realise that your friends are a bit shit. Whilst you're still the person you were pre baby, you're simultaneously almost completely not. Your new best friend is now Google. Google is always on standby, and never gets tired of hearing you ask questions that begin with
"is it normal if my baby....?"
or "why does my baby.....?"
Google never rolls its eyes at your insufferable over anxiousness, or tells you that all you talk about these days is the baby. It only serves to provide the answers you require. Even though most of the time they will be completely inaccurate and quite possibly cause an emergency doctors appointment with suspected meningitis for a mere milk spot.
You will never come closer to slamming a hardback book on your partners head at 3am whilst you sit there feeding your child, head bobbing as you try not to nod off, with your partners snores echoing around the depths of your skull.
It will be the best of times and the worst of times. All at the same time. Before 8am on a Monday morning.
You'll become a weeping, paranoid wreck. Your first child thinks you don't love them anymore. Nothing will be the same again. Your partner thinks you're ugly. That blanket is going to smother the baby and can't possibly be used. The midwife looked at me funny.
And then all of a sudden you'll be fine again, and you'll curse fellow mums for not warning you about the nuts stage a few days post birth.
The squelching sound of a freshly soiled nappy will evoke multiple emotions from you, dependent on time and situation. Annoyance, as you tip the pram to be wheeled out the front door; relief as you rub your child's tummy who has been squirming and struggling for the past hour at 3am. It will be the first time another humans bowel movements will toy with your emotions.
Your baby will always want to eat when you eat. Standard behaviour.
Intimacy with your partner will have to be 'booked in'. Gone are the days of spontaneity. And you'll have to be wary of not spoiling the mood by discussing the colour of the baby's last turd before you get it on. Although it's guaranteed you will. You won't be able to help yourself.
You will be so tired, the word tired doesn't even cut it. We're talking eye stinging, body shivering, everyone's face is pissing me off kind of tired. And then some.