The day after the Christmas Trees, the tinsel and Baby Jesus himself get stuck back in the loft and CHRISTMAS IS OFFICIALLY DEAD.
In our house it’s also known as ‘What the fuck am I gonna do with my life this year’ day. (Catchy. I know.)
This year is a big one for me. Today is not just about doing the lottery, fantasy house-shopping on rightmove and googling the shit out of far-off holidays to the Maldives… Without children… Alone… With my-former-self from circa 2009 when my labia was entirely internal, my stomach skin didn’t resemble packing materials and shorts were at least the same length as your vagina if not longer… No.
2016 is different.
It’s the first year I’ve had to think seriously about what I’m going to do now I won’t be using my body to harbour any more uterus-tenants. My babies are born. My fanny is about as good as it’s ever gonna get. I’ve breastfed for the last time and my areolas are thankful for that fact. But it does leave with me with that daunting questions of what next?
I’ve enjoyed being a SAHM (With the exception of soft play and play-doh and meal-times and bedtimes and leaving the house and shit. Obviously.) But joking aside I do feel really lucky to have had that choice. And I’ve been happy to put my children first for a while and let myself sit in the shadows… Albeit a slightly sticky, I haven’t washed these leggings for a while, yes that IS Weetabix and no I won’t be bothering with a bra today shadow.
Those days are slowly coming to an end and, to be quite frank, I’m a little bit terrified. I haven’t worked for 5-years. FIVE MOTHER-CHUFFING YEARS. I don’t even know if I still remember how to do it…?! My CV has a giant hole in it for half a decade that says ‘mostly been firing humans out of my fanjo, eating cake, discovering the mystical powers of gin and sort of dealing with all that right now thanks bye.’ And I think I’ve sort of been hoping something will just ‘come up’. But unsurprisingly it hasn’t.
My baby has become a toddler and my toddler is becoming a school-child… HOW THE ACTUAL FUCKETY-FUCK THIS HAS HAPPENED I DON’T KNOW. I feel slightly sick when I think about it. And a little like I’m losing my sense of purpose… And I’m just saying for the record now that it’s entirely possible that the boy will be in nappies until he’s eight just so I can pretend he’s a baby FOREVER. Which he will be. FOREVER.
I’m sure all of you reading this are waiting for me to conclude this post with a revelation of some kind, but I don’t have one. Sorry. I just know that no-one (so far) has exactly leapt at the opportunity to publish my book (dicks) (although if any publishers/agents/people-who-just-like-giving-other-people-their-money-for-fun are reading feel free to turn up for dinner tonight yeah….), and that mostly I’ll be having wine in my pyjamas tonight whilst browsing the Thomas Cook website and Dry January can fucking fuck off.
Happy January guys.