Hi Ho Hi Ho…

“It’s off to work I go…”

This is the song I sing in my head every morning as I drop the baby off and run into work. It’s quite apt as I truly relate to all dwarves …

  • Doc. – hand me the calpol, and the nurofen and the ashton parsons, and the bonjela
  • Sneezy – there’s only so many times your kid can kiss you on the mouth whilst blowing bubbles of snot before you’re gonna catch it
  • Dopey – what did I come into this room for?
  • Bashful – going to baby classes, pretending you like the other mums
  • Grumpy – when she won’t go to sleep
  • Happy – when she does

And of course my bezzie

  • Sleepy. … no explanation needed (my grey hair is a ringer for his too)Image result for the 7 dwarfs sleepy

This post has been a long time coming as i’m now back full time and quite honestly between having a day job and the 24 hour job of being a mum I don’t get much time to even fart these days.

I love being back at work. Firstly, I think it’s because I love what I do and that’s important but secondly because i’m not ashamed to admit – being a mum is the hardest job i’ve ever had, organising financial conferences is a piece of piss in comparison. things that pissed me off before don’t compare… “What was that Mr CEO – your car transfer didn’t turn up (even though you hadn’t asked me to book one?) – no probs sir, i’ll fucking piggyback you there…”

Looking back it was probably about 9 months in that I started to get twitchy, there’s only so many nursery rhymes you can sing in one day before you are willing your child asleep so you can crack that bottle of wine in the fridge. (current fave is a rosé Malbec from the Co-Op – £6.99 knock yourself out!)

Going to work means I get to hang out with ADULTS yeaaaah – however what I have noticed is that chat about going out and getting wasted last night are a thing of the past and it’s now more of a comparison of how many hours sleep we got and should baby shit really be that colour?!

Layla goes to nursery and the first time I dropped her off she tootled in without a care in the world. “ok byeeeee”. Picking her up that evening was a different story – we’re made to wait outside whilst they do one last nappy change and clean their faces and I could hear her from the road screaming like she was next in line for the slaughter queue. When she saw me she clung to me like a monkey – I literally could have let go and she still would have been hanging there for dear life. The next day followed suit with her having to be peeled off me whilst the other mums watched on in pity “ahhh mine used to be like that so I gave up work because I missed them so much” … fuck off.

Around day 5 it seemed like we’d turned a corner and she went running in without a second glance calling one of the key workers “mama” … errr ok?! That was my first pang. I didn’t feel sadness, regret, more relief. It’s not that I don’t love my child, it’s just that she’s hard work and i’m the first to admit it. She’s full of energy, loves climbing on things that collapse, runs instead of walks and if it doesn’t involve glitter, flour or anything else that isn’t easy to pick up off the floor; gets easily bored (my mum has already asked if i’ve looked into what age kids get ADHD?!) so nursery is most definitely the place for her.

I’m slowly starting to get into a routine and it looks something like this:

  • 05:00 – Husband’s alarm goes off, he springs out of bed and clomps round the house like a baby elephant in tap shoes. I pray silently he doesn’t wake the baby…

a) he doesn’t and I go back to sleep until my alarm goes off at 6:30

b) he inevitably does, he doesn’t hear her cries because he’s too busy spending half an hour in the shower washing every hair on his body and I go in to crying child, lift her into our bed hoping she’ll go back to sleep, eventually give up around 5.30am – go into the living room and whack Raa Raa the Lion on youtube.

05:30 / 06:45 Bottle gets given to child whilst i race off to the shower in the time it takes her to drink it

07:00 I attempt to get dry and dressed whilst child bursts into bedroom, demands story time / tips the contents of my make up bag onto the bed/ spills water on herself /plays with daddy’s glasses / walks on his iPad… Cue singalong time, whilst i draw on my scouse-brows and attempt some sort of “hair do” which ends up more of a “hair don’t”

07:30 Mummy is dressed and has enough make up on so she doesn’t look dead, chases Layla around the house to try get her out of pyjamas. Eventually she gives in when I bribe her with “putting cream on” – this is a new thing where I put moisturiser on her hands whilst I change her shitty nappy and get her dressed, she’s fascinated!

07:45 Bags packed, hers and mine – off to nursery. Sing nursery rhymes all the way like a deranged school teacher.

07:55 Patiently tap feet outside nursery waiting for gates to open at 08:00

08:00 kids gets lashed to her other “mama” and cue mad dash to station to catch the 8:22 into London

09:00 get into work, order the biggest coffee ever. Day usually consists of spreadsheets, bullshit meetings, bullshit conference calls and more spreadsheets

4:30 leave work in attempt to get the 4:37 train to Essex, usually miss it and end up on the 4:42 meaning I then race to nursery and arrive hot, sweaty and praying the won’t fine me for tardiness!

Eventually get home and manage to squeeze an hour of playtime in with the babe, where she’s usually so tired she snarls me until she gets her “bok bok” – Scouse for bottle.

6.30 bath and teeth

6.45 – 7.00 she usually passes out after my rendition of “there’s a ship coming in from Bombay… (good old Scouse folk tune!) whilst I sneak out the room like a ninja, hug that bottle of wine and get the tea on for husband who usually gets in around 8. We eat, watch Sense8 (new Netflix fave) I decline his offer of “cuddles” – that’s what got me into this fucking state mate and then pass out around 10:00pm.

On a good night she sleeps through, lately i’ve been woken in the early hours by a whinging child – fuck you TEETHING!!!! Waiting in anticipation of my morning wake up call…

And there you go kids, hats off to those full time stay at home mums, hats off to you working mums.

Stay strong x

 

 

T.V. or not T.V.?

Having a baby introduces you to a whole new world dominated to keeping your child entertained. In the early days , sometimes I questioned whether the entertainment was for her or for myself? … This is when you start signing up for baby classes. My first introduction was to Baby Sensory which co-incidentally was run by one of my besties and I loved. I think this was partly because of the way she is in her classes – it’s like a switch goes off and she becomes a cross between Mother Earth and Coco the clown, her enthusiasm for what she does is amazing and mothers and babies are enchanted. Not to mention they have themed weeks where fancy dress is encouraged, not that I needed any encouragement!

Since moving to Essex I haven’t been so lucky with baby classes. For obvious reasons (because I tend to offend) I won’t name them but two stick out. One was a “new mum’s meet & greet” class where Layla ran riot around newborns and I spent most of my time moving my free gravy-like coffee out of her way and questioning how the fuck one of the mums had time to bake nut /gluten / sugar / taste -free banana loaf for the group.

Another mum who announced that she was doing baby-led weaning and basically came each week with a ruck sack of food, put her baby in a high chair and just let him throw shit everywhere without actually eating anything whilst she caught up with her mates really pissed me off. I think the nail in the coffin was when me being me; opened up about how breast feeding wasn’t for me and I couldn’t wait to get her off the boob. There was snarls… mostly from some mum who had dread locks, a tattoo on her tit and her 4 year old kid looked about 9 because he was so fat who then told me very loudly in front of the group,  how important it was for bonding with your baby and how she will continue to do it for as long as she could and I should have tried harder.  K’innell love- where’s your sense of Girl Power you bitch?! And while you’re at it, wearing deodrant will not make your baby love you any less.

And this is the problem, not every mum is going to be like you, agree with the way you think and not judge you for saying “can’t wait til baby stays at nanny’s house  so I can go out and get wasted“, but when you do meet those mums – cling on to them for dear life.

The second class I mentioned is one that we still go to simply for shits and giggles. It’s in our local library and run by one of the workers who told me she was 30 but looks about 50 and not only isn’t a mother but i’m highly doubting if she’s ever been shagged. Ok so i’m judgemental as fuck but i’m only saying that you have to have a certain “pizazz” to run baby classes – you only have to look at Mr Tumble on CeeBeebies and know that he’s a bit of ham short than a sandwich but the kids love it. Library bird needs to stop wearing mum brown tights and run a pair of GHD’s over her frizz head… oh and be a bit more sympathetic to crying babies (she once asked one mum if she could shush her baby so not to disrupt the class!) Every week she looks around the class (mainly newborns) and asks if we’ve had any birthdays? – mate some of these kids are fresh out the womb, know your audience!

The singing then commences, she has a list of favourite nursery rhymes which I must admit I’m only just learning the words to some of them 6 months in! She has a voice not of a cat being strangled but more like a blue whale being castrated – deep and pained. My saving grace is some grandad who reminds me of the the bodyguard in Love Actually when Hugh Grant sings Good King Wenceslas (← click on the song!) rolling his RRRRRs and generally giving it welly – go’ed son. Without him in the class it would sound like that time at church when our Organ player realised he was a grown adult with a rep to protect, jacked it in and left the congregation singing completely out of tune to This is My Body.

On the days that we don’t have baby class and she isn’t at nursery (i.e. when it’s down to me to entertain my own child until my husband walks through the door) I do find that sometimes a bit of i-Parenting doesn’t do them any harm. When I first had Layla I swore to myself that I didn’t want her to be a screen addict and if she was going to watch T.V. it would only be in French so she’d hopefully pick that up. My, my how things have changed…

Need a shower?  Cup of hot coffee in peace? Ironing? Tidying the house? Put a wash on? Make the dinner? Need a poo? …. the solution –  T.V. on

Don’t beat yourself up mamas, we need a rest too!

On that note i’m off to catch up on some trash t.v. whilst the kid is in bed, over and out ♥

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