When we decided to have a baby, there were certain things I knew we would lose. Enough people had warned me that there would be sleepless nights, I’d been told that I’d better start saving now for maternity leave and that we wouldn’t have much social life, but I hadn’t realised the extent of the sacrifice. I love my children dearly and it’s just as well as they appear to have stolen the following things from me:
- Shame – I’m sure I had some once. I’m sure I cared what people thought, I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t previously have spotted me galloping to nursery wearing a cowboy hat and a medal, clip clopping all the way with the occasional whiney for good measure.
- Bladder control – now I love the Hokey Cokey as much as the next man, and all is well with my left arm and my right leg, but sadly I won’t be putting my whole self in again after that incident at the diddy disco, shame I only carry round spare clothes for the children. And let’s not even talk about the trampoline……
- Silence- I am offended my own verbal diarrhoea, I offer a running commentary on everything I do- mummy is hanging the washing out, yes look I am using the pink peg, which peg would you choose? Those are your trousers can you see any of mummy’s trousers, how many socks can you count…continue until task is completed and no-one is crying (at least not out loud)
- Privacy – no one should ever have to poo with an audience. Certainly no one should ever be asked to offer a running commentary on the activities involved in a poo. In a public toilet.
- The ability to walk in heels – once I cantered around London on 3 inch stilettos, now I walk like a drag queen with a blister.
- “Popping” I haven’t popped anywhere in nearly 4 years. An outing is an excursion. You need a rucksack the size of a small child and it takes about an hour to ensure everyone has a clean nappy, face, hands, pants, full tummy, shoes on and is willing to come with you.
- Concentration – I can’t even follow Hollyoaks anymore.
- The remote control. We now have three TV remote controls as we end up buying yet another one because we can’t find them, then they turn up in one of daddy’s shoes, or the freezer drawer, or the bin or the cats litter tray, you know, all the usual places.
But really have they stolen them or have I given them away. I swapped silence for giggles, privacy for cuddles and shame for fun. I wouldn’t change it for the world, well, maybe it would be nice not to piss myself………