Friday, July 23, 2010

Today’s realisations...

Sticky Baby was at ‘school’ today, so Papadada and I were free to do whatever we pleased.

For me - 1hr of self-imposed house cleaning (didn’t please me in the least) + leg wax (still, not pleasing)

For him - 3hrs of disassembling, sanding, reassembling his beloved Vespa (very pleased).

I’m back on my cleaning binges, people. Something in me has ticked over. I think it’s the realisation that I’m no longer a ‘New Mum’. For God’s sake, my kid is in size 5 nappies, is as tall as our stainless steel trash can (I know this because he hugs it on a disturbingly regular basis) and can pretty much replace the dead batteries in his own toys (screwdriver training from Papadada). I ain’t a ‘New Mum' no more!

With that label dead in the water, so are the excuses that are permissible only to New Mums:

  • I’m too tired to cook/clean/grocery shop/get off the couch/pay bills/get out of my dressing gown/shower myself
  • My newborn requires every ounce of my attention, therefore I can’t quite fit much else in
  • I’m still figuring out how to multi-task with this new addition to our lives
All totally reasonable, very valid statements that should/can be used for as long as possible. But 10 months, people? I can’t use them any longer.

Tired. Yes. Baby requires attention. Yes. But multi-tasking? I’ve totally got that shiz covered, let’s be real. So it’s time for Cleaning and I to become one again. I’ve got my daily list, my weekly list and my monthly list of ‘cleaning to-dos’. Anal retentive. BIG YES! I’m back, baby.

So anyway, once the cleaning and the hair removal were out of the way, Papadada and I decided to treat ourselves to a lunch date down by the water. And yes, I did get out of my dressing gown for it. Not a 'New Mum’ anymore, remember? 

It’s here that I had my 2nd realisation of the day. I’m a really, really, really cheap-ass date.

I ordered one measly glass of white wine and I was hammered. Seriously buzzed and almost slurring my words. Tipsy enough to yell something out to the steroid-y looking jackass wearing obnoxious pink euro-boardshorts. (Ok, so I didn’t actually yell out to him, but boy was I coming up with some gnarly one-liners in my head!)

Food-wise, I ordered the grilled fish, but in all honesty? I would’ve been happy with a half-eaten teething rusk and a jar of apple sauce. 


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