Little Bit of Rain

I think rain might be the mortal enemy of stay-at-home Mums and toddlers. Last week we had days and days (and days) of rain, and by the end of it I was beginning to think Henry was doing some method acting for a role in The Exorcist remake, and that perhaps I was giving Joan Crawford a run for her money in the crap Mummy stakes. Henry was a bored, frustrated, whingey cranky-pants and I was ticking all the ‘Bad Mummy’ boxes: Easily losing patience, Yes. Saying No all day long, Yes. Too busy doing housework to spend quality time with the baby (which might be what’s making him grumpy), Yes. 

What is it about housework? I feel compelled to do more the worse I feel, and then I feel worse because I’m doing too much housework… If I win lotto, I will get a cleaner and pay him well. I’ll also buy a ride-on vacuum cleaner and have a really big house.

Thankfully the sun came out this week and our little world changed. Suddenly the housework seems less important, and Henry and I are having fun getting out and about and seeing the world together again. The forecast is for rain next week so I think it’s time to get inventive, and not let the rainy days get us down or keep us inside. 

I’ve also been battling a bit of the no-social life blues lately. I know I’m not alone - I’m just one of a trillion billion parents whose Friday nights consist of a couple of beers, crap TV and maybe take-aways if you’re feeling in a real party mood. Sometimes I love that, I love waking up on a Saturday morning feeling chipper, not clutching my head with the devil’s hangover - rueing to never ever drink again. Other weekends I wish I had half, or a quarter of my old social life back. Just more spontaneity I guess – maybe that’s what parenthood doesn’t have, spontaneity. Recently I sat down to eat dinner only to look at the clock and realise it was 6.01pm, how the hell did I get so domesticated? And why was dinner 1 minute late?

There’s definitely a transition from your old life to your new life as a Parent - and some friends meet you on the other side in Parenthood and I guess some don’t. There’s nothing sinister in it, I think it’s a case of different lifestyles and schedules mostly, and a big part of it has got to be that parents are pretty damned baby-centred in the first few years. The friends that stick it out with you are ones that have to end up loving your offspring nearly as much as you do. 

We’re going to a wedding next weekend, I’m excited and a little nervous. We get to dress up and pretend like we’re free and spontaneous for the night (while trying not to worry too much about Henry and the babysitter). Will we party like it’s 1999? Will I check my phone 1000 times for messages from the babysitter? Stay tuned, loyal readers, for a post-wedding blog entry…

Yours truly, Mel xxx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auiJPav_aPo&feature=related

Let's Get Physical

I’ve got a mummy tummy. I swear some days I look like I’m still six months pregnant. 

There’s something about this flabby, cottage-cheese cumberbund which makes me feel like I’ve unwittingly boarded an express train to middle-aged land – my mummy lump and me like to enjoy  the finer things in life, a good pillow, a decent TV movie, wine that costs over $10 a bottle… 

Maybe I’m also feeling more senior these days because my desire to complain about things is at an all-time high.  Before I was a parent, I would have been concerned by a rise in alcohol prices – now my blood simmers at the state of local parks, littering, pushy people, noisy neighbours, loud teenagers… I wrote my first Letter to the Editor yesterday complaining about Melbourne’s public transport ticketing system, is this the beginning of middle-aged derangement, or is this simply parenthood?

It's rough when you feel like your body has changed forever.  I’ve started back at the gym in the hope of stopping my mummy tummy from expanding into a granny fanny, I have to draw the line somewhere. Let's face it, it’s hard to feel like an attractive member of society when you have yoghurt smeared down your top, your track pants are slipping down to reveal your bum crack, and your hair is greasy and pulled back into a ponytail because you haven’t been able to squeeze in a shower in three days.  

I’ve decided there is only one thing left to do - I am going to become the Forrest Gump of mothers (Forrest Mum? Mummy Gump?). I am going to run. Not very far, and not enough to really hurt, but enough to keep the middle-aged wolves from nipping at my 30-something heels.  I also have a wedding to go to in one month’s time -  mummy tummy be gone, Forrest wants to go to the wedding. I will keep you posted…