I take in a deep breath and exhale. ‘I will not cry, I will not cry…’ I chant this repeatedly in my head as I sit there. It has become my mantra. I will not cry. Not right now. Maybe later. Now is not the time. It’s not a coincidence that I keep seeing cows when I shut my eyes. I feel like one. A fat dark brown dairy cow. No one ever tells you the full truth. Never. They say it’s not easy. But ‘not easy’ doesn’t even come close. Sore nipples from the combined efforts of ‘baby dearest’ and the breast pump make feeling fat and losing my lovely complexion a walk in the park. I kid you not, I understand how dairy cows feel.
Each session is a mini nightmare but what can a new mum do when everyone chants ‘six months exclusive!’. You definitely don’t want to be ‘Mum De Vil’ depriving a poor defenseless child of her nutrition. Pumping session over. I quickly sort out the milk in bottles and put them away ready for the day out. As usual, I’m already running around like a headless chicken. I’m late… to think that once upon a time punctuality was my source of pride. After frantically prepping a wriggling angel and putting together our diaper bag, I race out of the house in record time (per my new standards) and lock the back door and burglar proof.
I get to the car and I freeze. Oh Lord hold me as I hold my baby and all these things… my knees go weak. I can’t believe it. The car keys are on the dining table. Never have I wanted to walk through a wall so badly. I head back, skillfully balancing baby and bag I let myself into the house. And I take a seat. Yes. I sit.
‘Why? Am I not tired?? If I don’t go what will happen? Will the program not go on?? What at all?!! Ahba!!!’ I finish my two-minute damn-the-world rant and get a glass of water.Now we can go. I arrive at the function and everyone is so happy to see baby and mummy. Well, happier to see baby than mummy but it’s fine. No one sees my tiredness. It’s amazing what some face powder and an eyebrow pencil can do for a sleep deprived zombie.