Poo

Who would have thought there were so many conversations to be had about poo? I was at Mother’s Group this morning, and, well, poo certainly dominated the conversation. That awkward thing happened to me. That inevitable thing that happens when you’re hanging out with humans and babies at the same time, in the same room. I was telling a story about the weird lady who works at the pet shop. I got to the climax of the story: ‘And then she said-‘ when I was interrupted by an enormous, bellowing, wet sounding fart coming from the second smallest baby in the room. Of course everyone stopped to giggle and laugh and swoon over the second smallest, largest farting baby in the room. I stopped and joined in, smiling and cooing, then went to continue my story: ‘And then she said-‘… another enormous eruption. Once again everyone stopped and smiled. I tried to continue: ‘And then she said- hm, yeah, oh how cute.’ I gave up and sat down with Baby on the couch feeling embarrassed.

My story about Weird Pet Shop Lady was forgotten and the conversation quickly turned to something much more interesting – poo. How often does your baby poo? What’s the texture of the poo? The colour of the poo? The odour of the poo? The amount of poo? The baby’s facial expression when he/she is trying to poo? The sound the baby makes when he/she is doing the poo? How quickly they want the nappy changed once it’s full of poo?

Is this really what my life has become? Poo? But yes, there I was sitting on the edge of my seat, eyebrows poised, eagerly awaiting someone to make eye contact with me so that I could tell everyone all the ins, and outs of Baby’s poo and how it doesn’t smell so bad but she definitely wants her nappy changed quick smart once it’s there. And how she poos every day but there isn’t really a schedule to it. And it’s really runny and she gets this really funny look on her face when she is doing the poo and she can even do it while she’s breastfeeding because she really is the most clever baby and it gets stuck in all the fat creases on her chubby legs and it’s just all so cute and lovely.

Poo.

Mummy-Me-Time

Today I was lucky enough to get some much needed Mummy-Me-Time (MMT). As usual it was spent doing the food shopping… You are probably thinking this almost defeats the purpose of MMT in which one would assume the mummy in question does something indulgent and of interest but hey, I am taking what I can get at the moment.

Even pre-baby however in order to add some light entertainment to my otherwise boring outing I have a shameful habit of stalking people at the supermarket and inspecting all the things they buy to make me feel better about myself. Eg. Oh look, that woman is buying chips and magnum gold icecreams – quick glance at the tofu and chickpeas in my trolley – oh yes aren’t I good and healthy and modern. In this game it particularly helps if the person being stalked is overweight or wearing trackies and ugg boots or has obvious signs of oil in their hair or all of the above.

This game has become even more thrilling now I am a mother. Now I can inspect peoples’ bad food choices with an extra touch of smugness. Eg. Oh look, that woman is buying chips and magnum gold icecreams – quick glance at the tofu and chickpeas and BPA free dummies in my trolley – oh yes aren’t I good and healthy and modern and responsible and motherly all at the same time. Today I even wore a stripy top with jeans and a badge just to show how modern and cool I am, despite my new motherly status. Really, if you must know, it is just a bid to increase my self esteem now that my somewhat deflated post-baby-body has been returned looking ever so slightly different to the one I remember. Ok, a lot different to the one I remember.

Anyway, today when I was skulking up the frozen food aisle turning my nose up at someone’s choice of chicken nuggets, my phone rang. It was a girlfriend of mine who rang to tell me about the crazy weekend she’d had: drinking, hangovers, sex with her nextdoor neighbour, clothes shopping, brunch and coffee to cure said hangover, an emerging writers’ festival event, etc. As she was chatting away in my ear I looked down at my stripy top, jeans and badge and glanced at the tofu and chickpeas (and BPA free dummies and nappies) in my trolley. I thought about my weekend spent breastfeeding, watching episodes of Wilfred and Sex and the City, early nights and crosswords and felt a little bland to be honest. But then thought of my baby girl waiting for me (aka my breasts) at home and remembered it’s all worth it. I detoured via the chocolate aisle on my way out (even people in stripy tops have to slip up sometime) and headed for home.

Firsts

Why am I here? It’s 10pm and my seven week old daughter is sleeping soundly. Surely any sane new mother would be in bed right now, making the most of every precious moment SLEEPING. I hear you asking: A sane new mother? Is there such a thing? I have no idea. I have no idea of anything much at the moment really. Everything I thought I once knew has been forgotten, and everything I am supposed to know is, well, completely unknown! One minute I was eating m&ms, polishing the kettle, and listening to meditation CDs encouraging me to breathe energy and lifeforce to my baby while doing strange yoga poses on a fit ball, the next I was thrust into the world of motherhood: changing nappies, breastfeeding, settling, cuddling, not sleeping, smiling enormous smiles, kissing roly poly skin and all other things baby. Nothing, not even all those months of pregnancy, could have prepared me for this new world. And maybe that is why I’m here, to make some sense of it all in my own way.

One thing no one tells you about motherhood – the baby-brain just gets so much worse! I thought it was bad during pregnancy… my husband came to me the other day:

‘Uh, sweetheart, are a bunch of Baby’s singlets and your favourite growsuit meant to be in the bin in the bathroom?’

‘Hmm… no?’

‘Ok then – guess I’ll just get them out and pop them back in her room then hey?’

I went to a friend’s baby-shower on Saturday. She’d been telling me all about the new renovations and the baby’s room and was all excited to show me. I left home and was ten minutes late. I pulled up – at her mother’s house. About forty minutes from where I was meant to be. And the whole way there I was just so smug about the whole thing – Oh look, I don’t even need to look up the address, I’m just so clever and amazing, I was saying to myself. I bet lots of other people have to look up the address. I bet they’re all just pouring over their little maps, trying to figure out where to go. And look at me! I’m just driving straight there because I’m so great. Forty minutes and a phone call to my husband to get the address and a lot of map pouring later I arrived at the correct address and was one of the last guests there, one hour and ten minutes late.

I’ve also lost my husband’s bank card, spat my toothpaste onto the bench while standing right in front of the sink, worn clothes inside out, flooded the laundry, and called my brand new daughter by my rabbit’s name – all the while further developing my already incredibly bad caffeine addiction.

So people, I’m not that sure of much at the moment. The only thing I know for sure is that Baby has to be the cutest and most adorable and cleverest and wonderful baby I have ever come across, and she is worth every ridiculous embarrassment I have caused myself, plus more.

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