Dairy cow on two legs

Of late I've felt that I really have nothing worth blogging about, nothing worth saying. Why? Because my entire life seems to revolve around milk and poo, and, really, since you're not the parent or grandparent, I doubt you want to hear about that stuff.

I've been thinking about it a lot just recently. I hate feeling like I have nothing to say, nothing useful to contribute. I hate it that my conversations all seem to revolve around breastfeeding and the state of Nathan's nappies. Surely I am more than just a dairy cow on two legs or a poop scooper? Surely there is more to life than worrying about Nathan all day long - when his last feed was, whether there's anything I can do to relieve his pain, when next he will sleep (and for how long), when last he had a nappy change, etc.

Don't get me wrong - I love him dearly. I am grateful for every moment of worry he gives me simply because it means he's here & alive. I wouldn't trade my life in for any other if it meant losing him.

But...

I hate that right now (& I do recognise that it's just a phase) I have lost myself in the role of mother to a newborn. I have been trying to watch the news, so that I can at least talk about that, but Nellie has put paid to that in the last 2 weeks as she has insisted that I bath her. Of course, because I feel guilty about not being able to spend as much quality time with her as I used to, I oblige her; but that means no news. I try listening to the news on the radio, but somehow something else always prevents it.

I had such grand plans for an exercise routine & getting back into playing my piano. Neither has happened because Nate hasn't yet settled into a routine, & because I've just been too tired (& lazy) to make the most of the time when he has actually slept in his cot. (Because of his reflux & colic he generally sleeps in my arms or on my chest.) I am constantly aware of time ticking by, and of November drawing inexorably nearer. I've already had nearly 2 months of maternity leave... only 3 months left. "There never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them." (Jim Croce, 'Time in a bottle')

What I am also aware of is that this is not how I want to stay. Everyone knows that mothers of newborns only seem to talk about poo. But does everyone also realise that maybe we don't want to, yet are caught in this inevitable pattern of conversation? Certainly in my case, I feel forced into this against my will. I feel brain dead (I'm sure with some sleep I will recover!!) and downright boring. As someone who is capable, & anti gender stereotyping, this rather feels like a slap in the face.

So the next time you run into a mother of a newborn, ask how the baby is, and get a reply about poo, don't think to yourself how boring/ typical she is, or that she really needs to get a life. Pity her. Her hormones and the lack of sleep are conspiring against her. Smile encouragingly & let her know she's still someone worth talking to, even if she sounds like a stuck record. After all, if you're nice to her now, when she becomes 'herself' again, she'll think of you more fondly, and that may be a bonus for you.