The other day I wore a
clean interesting top, I curled my hair (well the front section) and dusted off my make up bag. Applying my 3rd layer of concealer, I felt hopeful. ‘When I’m finished I’ll look just like ‘me’ again’, I thought.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t manage my heels for more than 5 minutes, my tummy was bulging out over my jeans and my face looked rounder, older and like it generally had more important things to think about than getting dressed up. I looked around my disastrously messy house and saw hundreds of more important things!
Nevertheless it felt
better, sort of good – it felt like a baby step towards ‘normal’ and I was desperate to get back to normal.
Most days I wake up with a breast pad stuck to my face and a baby stuck to my breast. My hair only comes out of the standard ‘mummy-tail’ when I need to wash the milk, dribble and infacol out of it and sometimes it’s gone 3pm before I brush my teeth.
I’m talking most days, not bad days. This my friends, is my new normal!
The next afternoon while Dorothy napped, I managed to clean not just the bathroom but the kitchen floor too! I put dinner in the oven and she began to wake just as the kettle boiled. Perfect timing my sweet 🙂
I sat down with a nice cup of tea and my baby in my arms and switched on some daytime TV. That’s when I realised how truly grim I looked! I was back in the stretchy pants and scrunchie (in unwashed hair, full of yesterday’s hairspray and back combing!) and my boobs had leaked through my top. I’m pretty sure I smelt bad aswell. A little part of me started to feel like a failure.
Then I remembered that even before my new normal, even when I was living in my old normal, I couldn’t do everything well all the time. I always felt that some aspect of my life was suffering so that I could succeed elsewhere. Nobody can be all things to all people – we’re all juggling. So maybe one day I get to feel glamorous and lavish attention on my husband and daughters; maybe the next day I manage a tidy house and home cooking but I look like sh*t and I’m in bed for 8pm.
When Beth came home from school, tie askew and biro all over her hands, she sat and told me about her day while I fed Dorothy. I looked down at my content little baby and across at my chatty teenager, I smelt dinner cooking and realised that no mater what I hadn’t managed to do, I had infact smashed it today! Tomorrow the teenager might be hormonal and the little one might be grouchy, web might have chips for dinner and hey, the bathroom could still be dirty! Today the children were happy, our home was
semi sanitary and dinner was in the oven!
‘That’ll do pig’ I thought. And despite the milk stains and smelly breath, I felt very accomplished indeed.
THIS is the new normal and most
daysI have everything enough under control ;-P