Jeez, I moan a lot. Reading a few posts back it’s all I seem to do, complaining about where I live, what i wear and my lack of a job. Soz about that, although I make no promises to stop and especially not now since everything seems so at odds still. When am I going to be able to accept that motherhood is a job? When am I going to stop caring what I look like? Or at least banish the trackie bottoms to the bottom of the drawer and Go Out And Wear Something Less Boring Instead.
AB is almost a year old now and I’m still waiting for it to all feel normal. I still look at her sometimes and wonder when her real mum is going to turn up to claim her back, the one that knows what she is doing and remembers to clip her nails and clean her ears. She probably realises before going out that AB’s face is still covered in Weetabix. Under the care of her real mum she would probably be crawling by now.
AB’s real mum was probably delighted not to go back to work and made the decision without so much of a hint of regret. She recognises that being a mum is the most important job in the world and won’t miss such shallow pursuits as gossiping in the corridoor, telling people what to do, cinnamon pastries, wearing lipstick and…mmmm….The Stationery Cupboard. She doesn’t need actual paid employment to make her feel valued or feed her shoe habit (because she doesn’t have one, obv).
I expect her real mum can wear booctcut jeans without worrying that she has died and gone to fashion hell. It goes without saying that she shops at Boden. I hate AB’s real mum. When she turns up I am going to punch her in the face and run away with her daughter.