The transition to impending motherhood wasn't exactly subtle – think bulging pregnancy belly, car seat fitted with dangly toys hanging from the window, pram parked in the hallway and a wardrobe full of oversized stretchy tops, pants, leggings and under dacks, more commonly referred to as overpriced maternity wear.
Yet since the little master arrived, the visible transition to real motherhood has occurred through actions and words rather than the obvious signs such as a screaming child hanging off my hip and vomit stains on every single piece of clothing.
Recently, dear husband and I went to the best house party we have ever experienced. Think huge marquee, staffed by waiters and waitresses, endless supply of champagne, amazing food, disco ball, fairly lights and fabulous music from the 70's and 80's. Fun fun fun!
The little master was tucked away in bed with a babysitter and was the last thing on my mind as I downed glass of bubbly after glass of bubbly.
A few hours in and after an impromptu dance of the tango with the hostess, dear husband pulled me aside and gave me that 'we should better hit the road' look.
AP: Noooooo! But I'm having SOOO much funnnn. And there's a disco ball!DH: I know you are but we said we would have left by now...we need to let the babysitter get home.
AP: Oh boo hisss. Gulps remaining bubbly, shovels as many falafels into gob as humanly possible. Stumbles around dear friends saying goodbyes, loved them, missed them, loved them again, loved them even more. You're the best. No you're the best. Blows a kiss goodbye to the disco ball. Burps.
I knew we had to go and we had made the right decision, especially considering I had committed to a fun run the next morning. Yep, you read it right. Fun run hours after my first house party in goodness knows how long. Silly me.
The following day dear husband mentioned how he loved seeing the old AP back in action at the party. The old happy AP, having a few drinks, eating too much, chatting, laughing, telling bad jokes, making an ass of herself on the dance floor and making new friends where ever she goes.
I loved it too. I felt energised, happy and carefree (clearly very carefree considering how many falafels I devoured..not to mention the cheese..).
After wailing to dear husband about how I'm such a boring Mum now that does Mum like things, I pondered on how AP with a baby has now transformed into AP as a Mum.
- When greeting friends, replacing the welcoming peck on the cheek with an unexpected raspberry blowing session on friends belly. Followed by giggles from AP and then one very long and awkward moment.
- When clothes shopping, pushing tops aside that would show any sign of back fat, flobba dobba arms, stretch marks on hips or even the slightest chance of what was formerly known as a midriff, all whilst muttering obscenities about how the post baby body is all worth it.
- Finishing every verbal request from dear husband with 'Pur, Pur, Pleeeeassse?' Then barking on about how good manners is a sign of consideration and care for others / need to set good example now that we have a child / blah blah blah. Thank you.
- Celebrating Melbourne Cup Day at a BBQ with friends. Offered wine or beer. No thank you, soft drink for me please. Cries. But did you notice my manners? Impeccable.
- Replacing perfume and make up in the handbag with hand sanitizer gel and baby wipes. In fact, replacing handbag entirely with an oversized, bloody ugly nappy bag full of every single piece of baby like crap you can think of. Then times that by ten and lug that around for fun.
- From using Lucas' Papaw Ointment balm on my lips as a fabulous moisturiser to using Lucas' Papaw Ointment on everything that looks sore including nipples, lips and red bot bots. Including dear husband's....(sorry!).
- Regularly using the words 'bot bots'. Apparently the word 'bottom' is just not cute enough.
- Having a spare hour or two free inbetween feeds whilst dear husband looks after the little screamer and as such relishes the opportunity to spend every single moment.....in the stupidmarket. Runs wild down stupidmarket aisles, screaming 'I'm freee, I'm freee!'.
- Squealing with disgust at the scheduling of a netball final at the hideous hour of 9.00pm. Because 9.00pm is when I start the housework, you know?
Now I'll be honest, I haven't really greeted my friends with a raspberry. However the temptation has certainly been there and given another champagne or two at this party, it would have been raspberries for everybody! And quite possibly on their bot bot...