If we don’t get out for at least an hour in the day, we all start getting double vision and thinking everything looks like a steak (think starved lion in the film Madegascar). But in our case we are starved of things that keep us sane. I start to believe I might never see the light of day and Babe begins to think the walls could be closing in on her.
Since hubby returned to work after his paternity leave it didn’t take me long to realise that the easiest way to cope, even with a young frequent nursing baby, is to get out the house for a while (preferably in the morning). On the days I have to wait in for parcel deliveries, all hell lets loose. By the time hubby gets home from work, I have bald patches (from pulling my hair out) and Babe has chewed the corners off the door frames, eaten the carpet and pooped in the corner of the room like a home alone puppy dog.
Many people still say I’m brave being out the house this early on in Boyo’s life. But come on, he is eight weeks old now. Plus I don’t think they appreciate what it’s like staying home all day – it is by far the harder option. Honestly, its harder work staying in the house (besides I’d rather she trashed somewhere else rather than my living room).
Getting out of the door is not the straight forward thing it used to be, which frustrates us all. And the person least able to cope with this is Babe. Her whining and general mama terrorising in the run up to leaving drives me mad. When we do eventually get out, there is such a sigh of relief. Peace at last. I can gather my self, take some deep breaths and get back to feeling mildly normal. That’s usually when I realise there is baby puke down my back or I’ve forgotten a spare nappy…grrrr!
Guess what, we have a parcel due to be delivered today so until it arrives we are house bound. I can sense it’s gonna be a tough one.