Welcome to your fortieth year… *warning not for the squeamish

Wearing just a t shirt, you are trying to get dressed when you remember that you need to insert your Mooncup which is sitting downstairs in a pot of sterilising fluid, you having hastily dug it out after finding that the bleeding the doctor mentioned MIGHT happen after she removed your coil is much heavier than expected. You leave your two-year old upstairs rolling on your bed while you fetch it and return upstairs to find a quiet corner. As you wash your hands, she calls for you.



“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!”

You enter the bedroom, check she’s ok, return to the bathroom to retrieve a panty liner, and she follows you announcing “I need a wee on big toilet!”

You sort her out, praise, wash your hands again and together go back to the bedroom to finally get dressed. You realise that, despite having had the week off, you have forgotten to get your hair cut. You ignore the straggly bits and instead turn to jewellery. You put on your new ring and the engagement ring you have just got mended. Your daughter needs her nose wiping. You place the tissue in your pocket and as you pull it out the mended bit of the engagement ring breaks off completely. The ring remains intact elsewhere and you realise this is probably a blessing despite the sharp edge that is now exposed.

You carry her downstairs. You return to carry down the washing and ironing. Every time you look out of the windows all you see is next door’s knickers hanging on the line. The last tenant was more circumspect.

Despite there being an entire carpet to walk on, your daughter manages to kick over your tea. You make some more. She isn’t feeling too well and falls asleep in your arms all afternoon, sweaty, snoring, but so much your baby that you briefly bless the cold germs she’s caught. You read a book and try to ignore your aching arms.

It’s a weekend and you have no idea how to take time to just sit down and get some work done. There are a million things to be done first. You take pleasure in ticking them off your list but this leaves you with no time for your own self. For the millionth time, you yearn for a room of your own.

You have spent the week trying to re-emerge. Don’t be disheartened.

This entry was posted in Feminism, Motherhood, Observations and general nonsense and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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