So. I haven’t been around in a while. Like, for three months. And that, my friends, is because having a kid is WAY more difficult than I bargained for. In the new baby period of Feb, March and sometimes even April I may have been covered in baby puke but the Little Fella was basically a human bean who cried when he was hungry, tired or needed a poo. Over the last few months he has sprouted into the most incredible real live person, who occupies my every waking second. And I LOVE IT.
That’s not to say that it hasn’t been hard.
Never EVER underestimate how topsy turvy your life can become when under the rule of a little person. I was so very stupid to think that I could continue to post during the Little Fella’s early days – he’s five months old and I am still walking around, slightly dazed and always covered in his vom.
The last few months have totally TOTALLY changed my view on life. Being thrown in the deep end with a Little Fella and no life raft became far more difficult after the first three months. It’s like the world goes “right, we’ve given her support, we’ve minded her and wiped her tears, and sometimes, sometimes, we’ve even sent in a guardian angel to wipe the Little Fella’s bum when it all got too much for her. Now, it’s time for lift off.”
And suddenly, after months of being petted and minded and patted on the shoulder for pushing a baby out of your fanny you’re thrust into the big bad world with a baby who never sleeps and a copy of What To Expect In The First Year and told to fend for yourself. Of course, I am prone to deep exaggeration. The ever-present grannies have been constantly on call ever since I gave birth, but there was a definite shift in the consciousness of my teensy world around the twelve week mark where people stopped actively wanting to pat me on the head.
So. What have I been up to? Well, mostly I have been wrestling with the wild animal that is becoming a mother. It is by far the best thing I have ever done in my life and when my Little Fella smiles at me I feel like life makes sense, like really makes sense, but it’s bloody hard work. Keeping any semblance of your old life can be a difficulty; for example, last week I caught a glimpse of the amazonian rainforest I am cultivating on my legs and realised that I actually can’t remember the last time I pruned them. My beauty regime, once so stringent and lengthy is a slathering of whatever moisturiser comes to hand (usually a handful of whatever I’m rubbing on the little fella’s face at the time) and the occasional scrub of something smelly in the shower. It’s not that I don’t care – I really really do – it’s just that by the time the Little Fella is in bed and snoring I’m so bone tired that I can’t be arsed to apply serum after serum to repair my baby ravaged face.
That said, I wouldn’t swap it – any of it – for the world. My face may be ravaged, and my bones may be weary but right now my little fella is asleep on his playmat beside me and when I think that this time last year he was the size of a sesame seed I can’t help feeling insanely proud of us – me, The Fella and the Little Fella – for getting this far unscathed. It’s no mean feat, but we did it.