This post is not about fighting my mother. Or indeed fighting my mother persona. It’s about being me versus being a mother. Yes I know you can do both. Not so sure I can though.

Women are all different of course and some are better at the “balance”(?) than others. I am back in the thick of being Mummy and not very me. Upon his arrival, Rex reset the dial to “maximum mummy” and I didn’t see it coming which was stupid considering I’d already been there, done that.

I feel like I’m wading through treacle even though everyone bangs on about “how quickly this time goes”, but I want to walk down the street alone, carrying a small handbag, maybe containing a book I’m half way through reading and meet a friend to sit and talk about crap for a couple of hours whilst drinking wine and nibbling cheese.

Instead I leave the house with a baby strapped to me, rucksack of many essentials on my back, pushing another child in a buggy. Often handing out breadsticks, constantly clock checking for nap times, feeding times, nappy changes. Worrying if little people are hot/cold/thirsty/have enough sun cream on. I can’t eat cheese because we think Rex is dairy intolerant (and I’m breastfeeding), I can’t drink copious amounts of wine as I’m told that’s not his thing either.

My hair is brown (with increasing grey) because my usual dabbling with fun colours is too much up keep. My clothes are functional, drool sodden and dull. I’m in need of a manicure, pedicure, wax, eye brow tidy up, massage… a full MOT basically. Yep, I feel a bit like an old car that needs a tune up.

Because I have been here before I know it will all come good. I can have silly hair again. I can wear clothes that don’t require access to my boobs, I can drink and eat what I fancy and I will one day spend time alone again. But it is so hard to imagine getting out when I am here; in the treacle, stuck to one child with another trailing behind.

And of course I see those mothers who don’t have to choose. They have their make up on, they are expressing or formula feeding and they are out and about enjoying themselves sans babies. Kids don’t hold them back, don’t change them. But I personally cannot get my head around it… I feel so very responsible for these mini-humans, they are my responsibility and Daddy is a helper. Yes I know this is stupid, but especially whilst I am on maternity leave, the baby is my “job” and it seems too early in the contract for taking a break. 

Plus babies seem to make me a routine-obsessed-control-freak. Yes, I’m that fun!

When the fog lifts and I can be “me” again, I’ll try to enjoy it as best I can. I’ll do a little dance if I get a full night’s (unbroken) sleep, actually I’ll do a big dance. The entire Flashdance routine.

In the meantime I’ll dabble in me… Put on something nice (only for Rex to smoosh banana on it and puke on me). Blow dry my hair only for the wind and rain on a long buggy walk to completely enhililate it. But these are glimmers of hope as the fog lifts… I can almost see the Cos shopping spree and cocktail night  somewhere on the horizon…

Photos to follow are a reminder of me before “Mummy” me…

San Fran 2009 and NYC 2012; freedom, hair, jewellery and fun: