Monday

9.30am.  Knock at the door.  Is postman.  What is wrong with the postman? Does he not realise that I have had a baby and there is no way I can start my day before twelve o'clock?  Stumble out of bed and answer the door.  Postman hands me a parcel but seems shifty – he won't look me in the eye. Postman has clearly stolen my identity via my credit card statement and is now ashamed that he has taken advantage of an innocent mother.  Must find time to check account online.  Close door.  Feel strange draft.  Realise boob is hanging out.  Resolve to give Postman a second chance.

Decide as we are now awake to go to ‘Bumps and Babies’ group for new mums.  Feel suspicious of a room full of mothers as I fear this may lead to competitive mothering.  Actually everyone is very nice and we have the predictable conversations about how much sleep we are, or more accurately, are not, getting.  Am offered chocolate biscuits - do not want to offend so eat three.

On way home have a sudden panic that I really should have small child in a routine but do not.  I read a chapter of Gina Ford at friend's house last week.  Realised that to follow her routine I will actually have to get out of bed before 8am.  This is a physical impossibility.  Decide routine will stifle small child's ability to be spontaneous and possibly creative so it’s good we don't have one....

Afternoon.  Baby music class.  Feel I have regressed.  Am sat cross-legged in a church hall singing.  In fact we are singing everything, including the instructions on how to listen and put instruments away.  Am teaching small child that life is one big musical...will he be disappointed that Nursery School is not like “Fame?”  Am impressed that small child copes ok with class and resists the advances of a puppet rabbit named after a rat. 

Walk to Zafiris Cafe with other Mums.  Look at chocolate cake, resist, buy chocolate milkshake. Look at carrot cake, resist, buy gingerbread milkshake. Look longingly at millionaire slice on friend Lara's plate, resist, buy hot chocolate.

Walk home smug at resisting cake.  Am starving. Eat crème egg.

Tuesday

Another music class.  This one involves a cello and lots of singing. Small child actually grasps maracca.  Am impressed, small child is clearly musical genius.  Small child puts maracca in mouth.  Maracca falls in lap.  Jeans appear suddenly damp - maracca covered in dribble.

Leave music class with other Mums, walk to Zafriris Cafe.  Resist passion fruit cake and chat merrily to waiter while ordering bacon sandwich.  This can in no way be seen as chatting up waiter as I am now a Mum and am no longer capable of such things. 

Lara says the more often mums breastfeed in public the more acceptable it will be.  Agree heartily and latch on small child.  Entire cafe has its back to us. Lose gloves.

Call in at Chemist on high street on way home as small child has developed cold.  Buy snot sucker, tissues, snuffle babe vapo rub and some stuff called Karvol.

Work on extracting snot from small child via snot sucker and tissue.  Small child is not impressed.  Manage to dislodge large bogey.  Am impressed with self.  Small child is visibly relieved.  Consider saving bogey to show husband on his return home from work.  Eventually decide this is ridiculous and resolve to call husband at work instead to tell him this important news.  Husband is chairing a meeting and does not share my enthusiasm.  Update facebook status instead and wait for other Mums to reply with adoring messages.

Go out to curry house with husband and husband's friends.  Feel nervous about breast feeding small child in front of them so take a bottle of expressed milk lovingly extracted via a plastic pump and a warm flannel after locking myself in the bathroom for half an hour (will not mention this to Lara).  Curry arrives just as small child decides he is hungry.  Bottle feed child whilst looking longingly at curry.  Realise bottle-feeding requires two hands whilst breastfeeding only takes one.  Finally get to eat cold curry.  Consider Lara is right after all.

Wednesday

Look in mirror and admire all new Keira Knightly style colar bones.  Two days resisting cake has now paid off, am yummy mummy.  Stand on scales. Do not appear to have lost weight.  Scales must lie. Strip naked and tie hair up, try scales again.  Scales still appear faulty.  Stand in front of mirror sideways to check collarbone.  Realise weight of boobs is stretching skin over collarbones and fear scales are correct after all.

Meet Fi and walk to Memorial Park.  Compare our abilities to express milk. Walk round park and mysteriously end up at cafe.  Fi and I resolve to resist cake and have healthy baked potato for lunch.  It is two o'clock and they have run out of baked potatoes.  Order chips instead. 

Fi takes off her coat and nervously pats herself down.  Perhaps she has lost her phone.  Ask Fi if she is ok.  ‘I'm fine’ she replies, ‘I thought I was in my pyjamas.’

Mother-in-law comes round and I update her on the week's events.  Small child now weighs over a stone, is learning to blow raspberries and trying to roll over.  Mother in law photographs small child who refuses to smile and spends ages squirming.  Wonder why small child is not angel baby.  Large avalanche noise comes from small child's bottom.  Change small child's nappy and marvel at his ability to get poo on his knee but not the rest of his leg...

Husband returns from work to find me sobbing with small child on my lap.  Gives me very concerned look, 'Has it all been too much today?' He asks taking small child from me. 

'Yes I sob, I thought it was going to be ok but the baby armadillo didn't make it.' Husband realises I am watching “Zoo babies” and hands small child back.

Thursday

Swimming class. Stress out trying to lever small child into super tight swim nappy.  Small child has odd-looking beer belly.  I however find wearing swimming costume on the way to the pool helps me fit into old jeans.  Resolve to wear swimming costume every day and hope to never need the toilet again. 

Small child uses flotation device to go surfing.  He loves it. Get out of pool and change out of costume.  Have two red marks on shoulders.  Discover swimming costume is cutting into flesh as it cannot cope with stretching over all-new boobs and my 'mum bump'.  Abandon plans to wear swimming costume under clothing on a daily basis.

Console myself with hot chocolate and small pastry in swimming pool cafe.

Baby...Continue Reading