Life sure is very different these days. For many years I fantasised about these days – hot, sunny summer days when I would have nothing to do but walk my baby through the park. We’d park up under a tree and I’d read my book while s/he slept. We’d come home and I’d get some jobs done around the house that I had been meaning to do for years, while the baby slept. Then we’d go out for coffee or a wine with the girls. Life was going to be cruisy. Getting up a few times in the night wouldn’t bother me – it’s not like I’d have to wake up to go to work.
Everyone talks about the sleep deprivation and that’s about it. You know what? The sleep deprivation doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Most nights I get 3 or 4 hours. Occasionally I get 6 and occasionally I get 1. I don’t need much anyway, so it’s all good.
No one talks about the fact that you have to fit every single activity into a 1.5 hour period while the baby is sleeping. And that’s if you have one baby. My life now consists of snatched moments. The second I get both babies sleeping in synch, I start off on my mad dash to get things done. I have to carefully prioritise. First I go to the bathroom. Then I grab some food. There is no such thing as a meal any more – I now live off muesli bars, bowls of cereal and pieces of fruit and cheese – anything that I can grab fast. After that I do jobs in order of urgency. Sterilise the bottles. Make sure the cats are fed. Put the washing on. And so it goes.
We have managed one walk in the park so far. I didn’t take into account the fact that it would be a while before I could actually make it to the park after surgery. I have to take a carefully planned route that means I don’t have to push the buggy up any hills. Hunter screamed the whole way. I put them under a tree and read my book for 2 minutes before I decided that the screaming wasn’t going to stop, and there was no way I was pulling my rack out in public. When you have two babies to feed, there is no subtle way of doing it.
That’s the other thing that no one really talks about. The fact that you turn into a milking machine. I’ve reached the stage now where I reckon I spend more time with my boobs out than in. I’ve started having this recurring dream. I’ll be out somewhere – sometimes it’s the mall, sometimes it’s at my old job, sometimes it’s at the gym, and I’ll wonder why everyone is staring at me. Then I look down and realise that yup, sure enough – the boobs are out.
Things reached a new low the other day when I found myself hooked up to the expressing machine, literally milking myself, whilst having a conversation with a friend. Milking myself. WTF?
So yup, life is very different these days, but not in the way I thought it would be. But still, I wouldn’t trade a second.
Well, maybe a couple of seconds. Just the ones when I get sprayed with human waste.