I feel uncomfortable, full of nerves and anticipation. In fact if you were to take a babies bottle and fill it with lemonade and then place the lid firmly on top and shake it like a tambourine and then watch the bubbles fight to explode out of the teet then you would have a good visual image of how I feel inside.
My time of being a stay at home mum is dripping away, in eight weeks I will need to learn how to walk in heels again, and master the art of applying make up before eight am whilst also getting three children ready for school and nursery.
Problem is; I am not quite ready. The first six months of BB’s life were fabulous but tainted by some rather god awful baby blues. I struggled on many a morning to find my happy face and instead painted on a mask for the world to speak to. The last four months have been a better place, my smile has been my own, the blues have turned to a pleasant pink and finally I have become comfortable in my own skin and role as mother to three. I want more time to luxuriate in the feeling of simply being, as BB calls me ‘momma’.
So change comes along as change has a habit of doing. I find myself visiting nurseries and doing long winded spreadsheets of hours, costs and pick ups. I lose sleep agonising about who will care for my older babies during school holidays and secretly whimper at the thought of someone else enjoying BB’s smile. And don’t let me even describe to you the worry I have that BB will have a seizure and neither me nor he who helped create them will be there to hold her afterwards.
I remain gob smacked that not one nursery or childminder has offered to have my baby for free after she has shone her one tooth grin at them. How it doesn’t melt their heart is beyond me…
I don’t have the luxury of staying at home as an option. To survive financially our little family needs two people to bring in the bacon.
As a upside it will be nice to have some of that green stuff again. I will enjoy holding it in my hands for a while before handing it over to breakfast clubs, after school clubs and nursery. But maybe I will be able to find a use for the silver and gold coins that are left over…
The memory of the guilt of being a working mum is coming back; and even though I know it is irrational as I gaze upon my beautiful elder two children who have so far survived in a house with two working parents; I can’t make it go away.
Whoever said being a parent was easy was talking out of their backside.