Some days I am on top of the world and I am one of those pulled together mama’s. I’ll have made a fresh load of bread, baked scones, cake and cookies, washed, dried, folded and put away the laundry (yeah I’m that good) done the dishes, hoovered, mopped and made myself a healthy rainbowed vegetarian (occasionally vegan) meal that would make the keenest of insta gurus turn green with envy that hits every nutritional mark a person can require. The baby will be in bed, I’ll catch up on TV, do one or two squats and when I’m really on fire, I’ll even read a real book written for adults!
Those days I will admit are very few and exceptionally far apart.
Those days are what some call “mom goals” I call them flukes.
On many days I’m lucky to brush my teeth before noon. I’m lucky to even have brushed my hair at all and on wonderfully rare days I even manage to do both. I can go days without a shower and the only reason I realise that is because I smell myself. (Like I said it’s not all cute) I usually have some kind of food or drink spilled on me (usually breast milk patches) and sometime even bogies, or better yet … vomit.
These are the days that I don’t always have the time to make that #instafood worthy meal.
On these days it’s something quick and easy because by the time bed times over, the final page has been read, the last kiss stolen, the toys picked up and the washing collected and sent to it’s mandatory three day waiting corner; I can’t be bothered fending for me.
I have a freezer draw full of home made meals pre portioned, labeled and strategically stored (she can’t have the same meal twice in a row, what kind of mother would I be?) So I can always say my kid had a home made dinner I prepared. (No one has to know I did it last week) but when it comes to my dinner it very often results in cupboard food.
Some nights I manage an omlette, other I can whip up a mean beans on toast, often I reach for the instant noodles and on those challenging evenings I just about muster the strength to eat a bag of crisps.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Scott went to work to do the ever so joyful Sunday night close in the pub, and I hung out with bubba getting cuddles, playing, laughing and preparing for bed.
And then it happens.
The cheeks become scarlet. Drool won’t stop pouring out her mouth. Everything becomes a chew toy. Screams that curdle blood pierce the skin and she’s clung to be like that baby monkey clung to that pig.
Teething is hell. For her. For me. My sanity slips and I become a desperate soul trying everything in my power to take away this pain I can’t remove.
The. Before you know it, it’s reaching stupid o’clock, you haven’t drank a drop of water since you woke up your stomach is shouting “girl feed me!” And all you can do is quietly retreat to your room a packet of tortilla chips whilst baby’s asleep in your arms and pray she doesn’t wake when you open that packet (cos you know it’s going to happen) and hope to find this morning’s glass at the side of the bed with enough water inside to at least get you through until your partner makes it home.
These are the days I tell myself that she won’t want my cuddles to sooth her forever, so Im enjoying the hugs and kisses whilst I can get them.
See, it’s not just you that has those ‘forget it happened’ days.
Love and hugs,