What's Motherhood Really Like?

“So, what’s motherhood really like?”

As I looked into the well-rested eyes of the girl I’d just met at a friend’s birthday party, I considered how best to respond as she went on to explain that she was considering having a baby but had concerns about her white carpets and matching sofas.

As I listened to her talk about the protective blue plastic socks that were issued to her guests and the drawer dividers she used to keep her blacks knickers separate from her white, I was beginning to feel a dastardly longing for her to have a baby immediately.

To be honest, I’d put more thought into purchasing my fridge freezer than into having a baby, and had simply assumed it would comply on the basis I was bigger. Baby would while away its days looking like a model from the mini-Boden catalogue whilst I baked cupcakes and praised it occasionally from the kitchen for sitting so nicely for a whole seven hours. The labour was going to be all drugs and no pain and baby would respect the home that mummy had spent two years renovating. It would eat, sleep and behave impeccably at all times because I’d read its instructions, twice (Contented Little Baby Book). Baby would enjoy international travel and adapt effortlessly to changes in routine. Baby would always use a coaster.

The nice girl’s husband stood by her side, a loving arm around placed around her waist. They were waiting for me to say something.

What’s motherhood really like? The question danced around my few remaining brain cells.

“Well”, I tried to focus on their content little faces through eyes that hadn’t enjoyed a full night’s sleep since July. “Take photos of your little white house then at least you’ll have your memories. The plastic slipper socks shouldn’t be a complete waste of money, they’ll probably be quite useful to wear on your head during the reflux stage, when you start weaning and for potty training too. You might want to consider an extra drawer compartment for disposable pants and giant nursing bras. Then, once you’ve finished breastfeeding, a padded bra section might be useful.” I took a deep breath.

“Once baby’s mobile, the game changes. You need to put everything you own in storage. I’m not just talking ornaments. Curtains, sofas, rugs, bedding, lampshades, literally everything. Keep the tv though, it’s essential.”

The husband’s arm fell from his wife’s waist. They exchanged glances.

“The word ‘holiday’ will no longer apply to you. Wipe it from your vocabulary and your memory” I continued.

“Perhaps we’ll wait a bit longer” she interjected.

My mobile phone beeped and I showed them my ‘Chickie in his Spiderman outfit’ screensaver, followed by my gallery of Chickie photos from birth to date. By photo 64, their interest was waning. I kept going though, every photo reminding me that my little boy is the greatest thing I’ve ever done.