An honest account of being a first time mum

Snot season

This time last year I was waddling around Tottenham Court Road, frequenting Burger King and scoffing bacon double cheeseburgers on the escalator down to the Northern Line platform. I was dressing bump in tight, black outfits and wearing glittery jewellery as it was party season. My hair was straightened, my eyelashes curled and my nails a divine deep red hue.

This year I am covered in baby snot. Oh and sweet potato. Oh yes and wee.

November seems to be the start of what I am going to name snot season. Every single baby I know has had an awful cough, cold, tummy bug, ear infection etc etc.

It seems just as we’d (sort of) cracked the sleeping at night and getting on with weaning (going fairly well). BAM! Big old snot monster throws a bucket of bogeys down from the ethra and we have whiney, snotty, waking up babies. It’s back to feeling like the mother of a newborn. And that, if I remeber rightly, felt like being hit by a truck, getting up and then being hit by a bigger truck. And crying a lot. Yes…a lot!

And that’s not all. Baby2011 like lots of his baby mates is teething. So we have teething and snot and frustration because he can only crawl backwards still. (Got wedged under dining room chair just now-hilarious, he didn’t see funny side).

Baby2011 has been poorly for about 3 months on and off, a cough, a cold and now teething and another little cold. It’s endless. It’s depressing and the nights are dark so early. Doctors can’t help. C’est la vie.

Other mummy friends (over a latte of course) have said it’s inevitable they’ll catch one thing after another at this age and at this time of year. I must admit I’ve felt knackered, and stressed that I can’t settle baby2011 even though I’ve been getting to know him for 8 months now. It’s so frustrating and it’s upsetting hearing them all bunged up and looking forlorn.

So here’s to all the mums and dads with poorly babies. All the parents sleeping sitting up with babies in their arms so the babies can breathe better. The mummies and daddies whose house aroma of karvol and olbas oil can be smelt down the street.

Get well little babies. In the meantime I think I’ll join what a good friend of mine’s husband has labelled the “pissed parents club”. Granted to be “pissed” takes me one glass of wine at the moment, but he’s right. It helps.

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