London, Mummy stuff

Cry-baby’s weepy week

cry-babyFinally, I am not only allowed to drive again, I also feel capable of doing so for the first time in 10 weeks. In addition to the constant headache, sleep deprivation gives me the feeling of having a major hangover – without having had the fun of getting insanely wasted the night before.  I don’t know if I am actually feeling better, or if I am just getting used to feeling spaced out all the time. What I definitely won’t get used to is being constantly weepy. It’s pathetic, really. There is not a single day where I won’t shed a few tears.

Monday: Am invited to lunch in the garden at P’s. Looks like I am going to have a tiny bit of a social life again. But: After a week of no day-time sleep whatsoever, little L decides to sleep from 11. At 2 PM, there is still no sign of her waking up. I missed the lunch. I will never ever make plans or leave the house again. Boo-hoo!

Tuesday: The eight-weeks appointment. One nurse, five diseases, two injections. The baby cried a little, the mother cried a lot.

Wednesday: As nursery places are rare in London, you have to start looking around early and put your child on a list as soon as the second pink stripe appears on the pregnancy test. So off we went to visit a ‘bright horizon’ nursery. Snotty noses, crying babies, a chalk eating little toddler and a butch carer were enough to make me want to leave, clutching little L to my chest and crying by the mere thought of leaving her in this not so bright institution.

Thursday: Mummy & me yoga, what a lovely idea. I wrapped little L in a gorgeous pink yoga-like outfit and drove to triyoga in Primrose Hill. We danced, sang, ommed, bended and stretched like true yogis and really enjoyed ourselves. Until the teacher played that song. As if I hadn’t cried enough in class already.

Friday: After a week of dadada-gooroo-gooroo-conversations with little L, my brain has reached mushy pea status again. Am looking forward to a decent chat with Big M and some time off the mummy duties. Turns out he wants to watch the telly and cannot give her the goodnight feed of lovingly expressed mummy milk, because he needs to unwind. Unwind? I can hardly remember how to spell that. A few more tears, and thankfully, this weepy week is finally over. 


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