“Rachel hey, how are you? I’ve potty trained Brent can you believe” Brent is 19 months.” It took me a month and we didn’t really leave the house (lol) but here he is in his big boy pants! How’s Lars? What time is he going down now? “
This is how my day started yesterday, Brent’s mum blabbering on and on, lolling at all the most unlolling things. I had one of those out of body experiences, when you just think “wheeeeen are you going to shut up?”
I get it, being a stay at home parent is hard. (I am one). You have no performance reviews to keep you on the straight and narrow, no potential pay rises to work towards, no Christmas bonus. It’s charity work and easy to lose your sense of perspective.
She’s a cool chic, Brent’s mamma but she is, in her words, “born to be a mum” which makes her kinda not that cool, too. She thinks way too much about it and never stops talking about it. And it is slowly killing me. Plus she has stolen Brent’s last months of nappy wearing. Bitch.
When we did have those paid jobs, we didn’t bore on about them to anyone who would listen, as quite frankly that would have been pretty dull. The minutiae of our day in the office was our secret.
Why can’t the same go for being a full time mum? It’s a big deal in your head, all those little things that happen. They’re lovely, sweet and rewarding. All those things make it okay – they’re the reason you’re crazy enough to have a second or third child.
But I don’t want to talk about it all the time, as it feels as if I’m squashing every last bit of my personality into a pair of Pear Shape Marks & Spencer Mum jeans. Not acceptable.
I’ll stick to my extra special research topics such as how much wine is okay when you’re pregnant (little joke), why platformed trainers are okay sometimes and how I can be really busy but still manage to watch all the “Vikings” series in three days. This, my friends, is living.