Motherhood really is life changing. I’ve written before how it changes every facet of your being, from the physical changes to your body, to the emotional and mental changes to yourself and indeed the very dynamics of your daily life…
But apart from the serious stuff, it can also turn what was once seen as the mundane or a dreaded task into a bonafide highlight.
Take for example, the weekly grocery shopping. For most people, it’s a complete dirge. Pre-baby, I’d hate when I got stuck behind a parent with an army of kids who’d grab everything off the shelves and have meltdowns galore over the chocolate aisle (oh karma, you really are a cow!) Indeed, I’d tut-tut when I’d have to almost circumnavigate the globe to get past an older person who was shuffling at a snail’s pace completely bemused, literally scratching their blue rinse trying to find out where the prunes were… I foresee karma having a go at me in 40 years’ time for this!
Yes I was one of those people, who I now look on as an annoying single person with way too much free time on their hands! I can distinctly remember seeing the weekly shopping as a complete pain in the behind. I just wanted to dash in and out and get the job done in the quickest time possible.
Now though? Now if I can get a chance to go and do the groceries baby free, then my God it’s on a par with a mini spa break! Okay, there’s no massages involved or luxurious oils and I may not have a robe on, but to get a chance to stroll through the aisles at my leisure with no baby is pure bliss. I can pick up items and read the labels, I can sample goodies that are on display. I can talk to another grown up without having to resort to baby speak and I can even read a bit of a magazine while I’m in the queue and I can saunter at my own pace.
Bliss. Pure bliss.
Although, you know you’ve really become mammy-ized when you are in the above ‘blissful’ situation and you find yourself talking to the trolley as if there is a baby in there and only remember he isn't when you get to the checkout.
Another example is the hairdressers. Now I realise I’m the exception to the rule here because I used to hate going to get my hair done. Why? Well anyone who gets highlights knows it takes hours, especially on a busy Saturday. That’s precious weekend hours stuck sitting in an uncomfortable chair, while bleach is applied to your barnett, as you get asked if you’re going out tonight or are you going away on your holidays soon, while you flick through old magazines and drink bad coffee. Then you’ve got to go to a basin and often have the head reefed off you by a junior washer and try and explain how much of your hair you don’t want chopped off. All in all, it was a chore I dreaded.
Now though? Now, I will literally skip into the salon like a school girl. The once feared basin is nothing short of a veritable hot tub. The old magazines seem new, because I haven’t had a chance to read one in months and the coffee might still be bad, but it’s hot, which is a far cry from my endless cups of cold tea that litter the house!