It’s not all The Sound of Music
Alright, before anyone thinks my life as a mum is The Sound of Music, let me just stop you right there. It’s not. I hate musicals. Too much singing and dancing.
Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother. Most of the time. I think my son is absolutely divine, I love him more than I can ever possibly explain. I adore our little family and I have a fantastic partner of 7.5 years (who probably doesn’t get credit for being great half of the time). And I’m going through a very sentimental stage at the moment, the “my baby’s growing up so fast” one, so I understand if things read a bit like the sound of music right now.
But it’s not all glamorous or always hunky dory. Most days I look like I’ve just walked through a wind tunnel. I haven’t had a haircut in ages. It takes me half a day to get in the shower. I wear my pj’s for most of the day. I haven’t finished an artwork in a year (YIKES!!). I used to consider myself quite intelligent and good at what I do. Since I became pregnant my brain has not been at its sharpest. Today I found myself washing dishes from the dishwasher that were already clean. At one point in my pregnancy I couldn’t remember how many days were in a year. I guessed 252, convinced it had to have 52 in it and there was no way there were over 300. I was stumped when Steinar told me it had 365 days. Whenever I attempt to do any form of research my brain refuses to compute what I am doing. Everything baby sticks, everything else does not. My website, the one thing out there that informs the world of my work, isn’t even up and running at the moment. I just haven’t had the time to get it back up. (Shame..shame..shame!!)
All of a sudden I look like the cliché mum, vomit stains all over, hair in every direction and like I have no time to tend to myself, which I don’t. I think I used to look at least half decent. These days I leave the house not noticing that my crotch is full of regurgitated food and that I look more like a middle aged scarecrow than an early thirties mum. There is usually no time to put the yummy in my mummy, and it sometimes makes me feel pretty shit.
I haven’t waxed my legs since… i don’t even remember. I wear clothes for their practical function for breastfeeding, not for their style or great look. (I miss my wardrobe so much!) Because I share my body with my baby all day I have (a lot of) days where I am probably the least pleasant partner to be around because I just want to be left alone. I miss me time. I also miss us time.
I’d love to have more time to read… something other than “Where is the green sheep?”. I’d love to have a day where I didn’t have to be on a schedule and always three steps ahead of what needs to be done.
I’m tired. Pretty much all the time. And let’s not forget to complain about how I haven’t had a good nights sleep in… forever. I don’t even know what that means anymore.
There. I just had to get that out. Now I can go back to being sentimental, doting and in love with my son. Because some days it really is like the sound of music. (Yes, even with the singing and the dancing.)