The second offspring is in the 12 month mark and I’M BAWLING. How the F has she existed for a year. A YEAR?! So here’s a breakdown of the first 12 months for you to take note:
Two words: smooth and perfect. Yeah that’s what your tummy area used to look like. Forget about the goals to loose all the wobbly bobbly bits before the kid turns 3 months because you’re in maternity clothes and will be for the next 2 years (and more). Just eat the chocolate gifts and cry into the breast pads because everything hurts, the trauma of the labour is fresh in your memory and to try drowning out other peoples birth stories – because somehow people think you give an F.
If you hear the “sleep when the baby sleeps” advice one more sodding time, you will just punch yourself in the face before ordering a couple of deformed voodoo dolls.
You’re pretty tired but you’ve got this! Who needs to eat warm food, do the laundry or take a shower anyway.. especially when the newborn shits all over herself, your maternity leggings and most the living room wall. Ha *twitches*.
Messy greasy bun and a biscuit for dinner, is life, but those grandma looking smiles are worth it. Kind of. Until she starts shrieking like a nocturnal bat from hell.
You need warm food.
And nice smelling clothes.
And a shower.
And a white noise machine, every “soothing” cot mobile available, Ewan the Dream Sheep AND anything sleep related that Google tells you to buy. (Just please Lord drop her unconscious pleaseee). At 3am, While the baby is boob eating and vag stamping and turd producing the night away.
It just gets better.
After some ritual sacrifices of your soul and forcing the voodoo dolls to watch “Baby Shark” for 8 hours (because that is worse than sticking pins in your eyes), that night your baby sleeps for 5 hours straight.
IT’S A MIRACLE!
No Hudini moves out of the sleeping bag. No freezing one tit off at 4am. Mir-ra-cle.
The following morning is filled with unicorn dust, daisies and a face lift .. That smug “I got my shit together before you” faced selfie, get’s uploaded on Instagram, Facebook, Bebo and MySpace with an equally smug caption. You actually don’t start the “you did this to me” argument with the husband and maybe even open to hug* him after 3 months. Don’t forget to take sure to tell EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the 80mile raduis that your baby slept and then call up everyone you know, so you can obviously CURSE the rest of your life.
Noones sleeping after this mate.
*only I didn’t mean hug, if ya know what I mean 😂
You feel guilty because you havn’t done the famous “tummy time” yet.. but when you eventually do.. nothing happens.. Until you put her down for the night and she’s somehow learnt from that ONE experience, how to roll over and ruin your life. And we’ve all heard, babies sleeping on their front causes cancer and the titanic to sink a little further.. so kiss your only 20 minutes of sleep goodbye.
Googling. Reading the absolute worse teething tips on NetMums. Buying random teething toys that you had no idea you were ment to refrigerate.
You are bloody knackered and WebMD tells you your schizophrenic. You don’t know the half of it WebMD..
Half way already and you realise breastfeeding hasn’t made you a size 0.. Also means cleaning regurgitated carrots from everywhere because weaning – Yay!
Wrap the kitchen and your face with Cling Film and stick the end of the Dyson beneath her mouth. It’s survival out here.
In fact, bubble wrap the ENTIRE house if you want anything to not die as soon as the kid looks at it. All those pretty candles and ornaments .. just bin them. That’s what will happen at one point anyway .. But be sure to keep one fancy table cloth cover to throw over the permanent veg stew spread across the table, to save some dignity .. *sobs*..
Shit. It’s been six months of not having a life. And your brain cells are in death mode. That’s it! Grab the girlfriends (or friend since everyone seems to get abducted when you have a baby) and head out to do something normal people do like cinema and eat a REAL hot dinner.
Obviously after the kid falls asleep, so it’s well late and your yawning. You understand F all about the movie as you’ve microslept the whole time and you forgot how to use cutlery at dinner – inbetween the several times your pelvic floor was at the brink of failing.. SO dash to do a piss you gooo again (x10000). Stumble in absolutely shattered but ofcourse as soon as you attempt to flop into bed, she rises.
Was it worth the “me time”?.. Oh piss off mum consciousness.
No longer can you watch trash TV while scoffing cheesecake while the baby dimwitted sits playing with a rattle and a couple of Pads. It’s moving. It’s yelling. And it bloody well knows what cheesecake is.. grr..
Real parenting has begun. You can’t leave the baby in one place. You can’t change a nappy without running a marathon and getting poo kicked at you. Heck, most the changes are done standing these days to guarantee maximum poop impact on your arms/clothes/soul.
The only human interaction with the café waiter is jeopardized as naturally, the high chairs are now made from lava. Joining a mummy group to make actual real mum friends (that hopefully will welcome your poop talk) means meet ups at flipping cafés, where the little one will do your head in, or meetups at softplays, where your little one will also do your head in. Both places you can’t actually talk to any mums to make friends. Grr.
Anything that straps ur child in is useless . The Jumperoo/Neglecteroo is abandoned and everyones allergic to the buggy.
You’re where I am. Bawling, “How did my newborn suddenly become a year old?”, as she unlocks your phone, captures you sobbing before uploading it to their own Instagram page, captioned “#mothersobber”.
Nevertheless, your greatful for all the moments good and bad, and thank the lord for the little blessings.
Happy 1st birthday Bambi 🙂