She is gorgeous when she's cross, gorgeous when she smiles, gorgeous when she dribbles milk. Changing the nappies is not the revolting task I once thought it would be. Breastfeeding is a breeze. I haven't worked in an office for two months and I don't care if I never see my not-so-long-ago-beloved job again. Being on a single income suddenly seems a small price to pay for the privilege of burping my Little Bunny after every feed and dancing her to sleep in my arms.
So yes, all the clichés are true. Stars in your eyes and all that. But carrying a baby in a front pack around a shopping centre has an unexpected result: people notice you. Some notice you with annoyance when the baby opens her mouth and exercises her lungs. Others notice you with a conspiratorial smile: welcome to Worry Land for the rest of your life, they seem to whisper into my brain, you think a mosquito bite on her perfect cheek is an abomination, wait till she starts dating!
It's enough to pull into a parking bay and don the kangaroo pouch: a passer-by is sure to look into your car quite blatantly as though they've never heard of Miss Manners and ask: "You have a little one in there?"
Queue up at the till in a supermarket, and you'll spend the time answering questions. How old? Is she a good girl? Are you breastfeeding? I mean, when was the last time a stranger asked about your breasts?
Having a baby changes you. No, I don't mean the loose skin on the tummy or the stretch marks. I mean your value system undergoes a drastic revision. People who comment on what a cute little Princess your daughter is melt your heart. People who don't are not considered friends anymore.
When you go out, you notice things you didn't notice before. Such as other babies, the models of their prams, diesel fumes, speeding cars, harmful sun rays, rain drops, draughts, germs in people's coughs.
Every shopping trip is an expedition: did I pack the nappy-changing bag? The front pack? The cloth nappy that acts as a sunscreen? A jersey for her in case it gets cold? Another baby-grow in case this one gets soiled? The pram? To think that two months ago I'd prepare for an outing simply by dabbing perfume behind my ears and powdering my nose. Six weeks into this motherhood thing and I forget where I store my compact.
When I was still pregnant, I'd walk into my wardrobe, look at all the beautiful clothes I no longer fitted into, and promise myself: one day soon, this sexy green silk number with a zip on the side and no back... But once you have a new-born, your clothes get sorted into breast-feeding clothes (baggy t-shirts) and useless ones (dresses with no buttons down the front). Remember, you already said goodbye to your sexy red lace underwear in month three of your pregnancy - now it's time to get into a monstrous utilitarian-beige breastfeeding bra.
A pregnant woman is a goddess: larger than life, fertile, full of mystery and promise, cradling the miracle of life within her. A new mother is an exhausted ever-vigilant woman dressed in a large milk-stained shirt.
So, as much as I may yearn for the goddess-status pregnancy bestows, the chances are not good given the unattractiveness of my breast-feeding garb. If I understand those facts of life correctly, that is.
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