Parent Life · Uncategorized

The Days You Leave the House

 

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Leaving your home is a simple affair, you get dressed, taking your time on occasions about what you are going to wear, sometimes  you may even check your phone, send a text or watch a funny You Tube video.  You put on your make up, you use both hands because you like to live on the wild side. Style your hair, on occasion you may have a coffee while doing so. Have some breakfast and even clean up after doing so, because after all, you don’t have to be to your location until 9am. I remember those days, I remember a time when I decided to leave the house and I simply left. How I took those days for granted. Cut to me deciding to have a child and that child eventually becomes a toddler. Had I know having a toddler meant constantly dealing with a crazy person jacked up on red bull first thing was going to be this hard, I may have thought differently. Just need to figure out where she is getting it from, you can’t be that hyper on fresh air. I know you are not meant to say you might not have a kid if you had a realistic view of what it would have been like, but hey, who knows if I’d had the option. I love my child dearly and now wouldn’t be without her, but what you don’t know you can’t miss, awful parent.

Yesterday was one of the days I made the decision to leave the house. Like an amateur I arranged to be somewhere for 11am, the location was a 45 minute drive, so had to leave around 10.15. Parents have all been there when you need to dress your child. This was once an easy task, when they were a baby, but now they can move and they’re nippy little bastards. To dress my child usually involves being bent over, running along the landing with a top in my hand, trying to put at least one of her arms in, once I get one in the second does follow. I pull on her trousers with one hand, while carrying her wriggle body in the other. My child has lovely long hair, looks nice, not nice to deal with. Brushing and pulling it back is always done while running, she thinks it’s hilarious, so won’t be stopping anytime soon. My back on the other hand being a 43 year old new mum, is about to pack up. Once all dressed, I then have to wrestle her to brush her teeth, as my mini Hulk Hogan tries to grab it out of my hand, every time it goes in to her mouth. Once done, now I get dressed, whatever is closest and whatever is clean. I did get to straighten my hair though, was a great moment. Make up on the other hand, was done with one hand and child on hip. Not a good look.

Now for the nappy bag, nappies, wipes, bum cream, clean clothes, bottles, milk, lunch and snacks all to be packed up. This stage she’s getting really impatient and shoves a book at me to sit and read. OK, one quick read and then back to it. Doesn’t work, I resort to one hand for packing. Bag is finally packed, now all I need to do is get her in the car. As I carry the nappy bag, her pram and her, I realise I’m going to drop something, so I put her down and she runs to car, past car and off on to the road, luckily we live in a quiet cul de sac. Now she’s had this taste of freedom, she does not want to get in to the car. Her body becomes as stiff as a board, not the easiest when strapping a child safely into a car seat. Next is the music choice, bloody nursery rhymes. Those wheels on that bloody bus never stop going around! So as my soul is slowly dying as I pray for some Stevie Nicks and we are about to leave, there is a silence, the unnerving silence you feel when your child goes silent. I turn around, eyes bulging, face a bit red and a faint sound of someone straining. Yes, she decides now to have a poop. I sit there and sigh as I wait for her to be done. For a split second I think, she’ll be OK for the journey, but alas, I know I have to do this. Out the car, back upstairs, wrestle to change her without getting poop everywhere, back in the car, nursery rhymes back on. As you pull away, you catch a glimpse of yourself in mirror, you realise your eyes no longer pop, they no longer sparkle, they just sit there, puffy, red, dead and a little bit sad, the make-up doesn’t even work anymore.  You remember a life of what it was once like to leave the house before you had a child.

 

 

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