I was reading something somewhere the other day (it may have been an interview with someone like Amanda Holden in something like OK. Who knows? Doesn't matter) about how you spend the first year of your baby's life waiting to wake up and feel normal again. It's so true, for me anyway. I love my baby, love being a mammy (however Bad I may be) and all of that, but somewhere in the back of my mind has been the belief that things will get back to normal someday. But it's been gradually dawning on me that they won't. This is what's normal now. This is my life. Nappies, watching The Baby like a hawk (albeit a slightly blind and easily distracted hawk), childcare schedules, worrying about salt content, planning excursions around pushchair-accessibility - these are the things that shape my day and occupy my increasingly addled brain. You might think this is a bit of a depressing realisation, but actually, it's oddly liberating. Accepting that your child-free, carefree days are over means that you can look back on the ones you did have with fond nostalgia. And you're really appreciative if you get to play out for a night! You get less annoyed at the rubbish parts if you're not subconsciously thinking they are getting in the way of a more fun life.
Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I need to get out more. After all, I am getting life epiphanies from OK magazine.
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