My first baby would fall asleep only whenever I entered a noisy mall. I will always remember the hours of pushing a pram around the pretty shop windows but never actually entering one because I was only a couple of months post-baby and dressing up and feeling good was about the last thing I had on my mind. I was sporting pregnancy clothes and an exhausted mind that wouldn’t shut up. My thoughts were streaming along the lines of stopping other mums with older kids and asking them what time her kids went to bed and HOW they went to bed and if she watched a whole movie ever again or had coffee with a friend without feeling like she was betraying something sacred. I wanted to ask women with no kids who were strolling in and out of shops if they have kids and if so, then how are they here, just aimlessly wandering around, shopping, smiling. It’s safe to assume that during the first six months of motherhood I was completely and utterly lost. Somewhere between having an emergency c-section and waking up at home with a tiny human being, the most precious thing I have ever been tasked with looking after, and absolutely no clue what to do next felt like the death of my soul.
