Mother's little helper
It's probably fair to say that before Winnie came along I was ridicuolously paranoid about the prospect of going a bit post-natal. I've been working full time for 13 years and I'm used to talking to adult people all day. I wasn't sure I'd cope with months and months of relentless nappy-changing and baby-feeding.
A few weeks ago we were watching The Collectors and this woman had sent in her collection of blue plastic objects she'd found in the street while pushing her son's pram around. While these things were quite a lovely blue colour (she couldn't bring herself to keep anything red or green even though she picked them up occasionally) no amount of calling it the art of the "found object" could disguise the fact that she was picking up crap from the street like a bag lady.* I looked at my Beloved and asked him to shoot me if I started doing stuff like that.
So far, I haven't time to feel sorry for myself even if there was anything to feel sorry about. Friends, family and community support people are ringing me every day to ask me how I am. This is lovely and heartwarming* and quite a bit different to my poor old mum's day when she was stuck in the burbs without a car and people apparently scowled when you tried to take prams on public transport.
But I thought I might have been crossing a line yesterday morning when I wheeled the pram into the bottle shop at 10:30. I was there to buy wine to go with the dinner I was going to cook and I had two enormous shopping bags full of food as supporting evidence... but so worried was I that the man behind the counter might think I was about to go home and drown my baby blues that I bought UNREFRIGERATED white wine.
* I have tried to call crap art myself. When I was 17 I went through a phase of picking up black shoes I found in the street. I thought it could be a sculpture project for school art but after I had a dozen or so shoes I realised I couldn't stand the smell of other people's foot odour anymore and threw them out.
**except when they ring when I'm trying to sleep (which is at least once a day.)
A few weeks ago we were watching The Collectors and this woman had sent in her collection of blue plastic objects she'd found in the street while pushing her son's pram around. While these things were quite a lovely blue colour (she couldn't bring herself to keep anything red or green even though she picked them up occasionally) no amount of calling it the art of the "found object" could disguise the fact that she was picking up crap from the street like a bag lady.* I looked at my Beloved and asked him to shoot me if I started doing stuff like that.
So far, I haven't time to feel sorry for myself even if there was anything to feel sorry about. Friends, family and community support people are ringing me every day to ask me how I am. This is lovely and heartwarming* and quite a bit different to my poor old mum's day when she was stuck in the burbs without a car and people apparently scowled when you tried to take prams on public transport.
But I thought I might have been crossing a line yesterday morning when I wheeled the pram into the bottle shop at 10:30. I was there to buy wine to go with the dinner I was going to cook and I had two enormous shopping bags full of food as supporting evidence... but so worried was I that the man behind the counter might think I was about to go home and drown my baby blues that I bought UNREFRIGERATED white wine.
* I have tried to call crap art myself. When I was 17 I went through a phase of picking up black shoes I found in the street. I thought it could be a sculpture project for school art but after I had a dozen or so shoes I realised I couldn't stand the smell of other people's foot odour anymore and threw them out.
**except when they ring when I'm trying to sleep (which is at least once a day.)
Labels: babies
posted by Mary Bennet | 2:49 pm
1 Comments:
Some days ago one of friends on EbonyFriends.com told me the collectors and I watched it, which is very touching and the mother is great, in fact every mother is like her.
Post a Comment
<< Home