One thing they never tell you when you are pregnant, one thing that is witheld (whilst animated in depth tales of piles, late nights, stretch marks are forced upon you), is the part where you play the avoidance game with your partner.
You probably all know what I’m talking about, but don’t want to comment yet, in case you have the wrong end of the stick. I’ll go into more detail, white lies, usually focused around pooh or sleep. You’re all with me now aren’t you? Please tell me it’s not just me.
You become aware of the lies quite soon into the new born stage. I would say it happened about day five of The Beast’s life. I’d spent a hard night jiggling, feeding, bouncing, rocking, cleaning sick out of bra, changing nappies, changing vests, changing sleepsuits, bouncing and feeding. I’d had very little sleep. At times, when it got to sticky to be just tipping the sick from my bra into the sink, I had been known to lie a screaming baby right next to Matthew whilst I changed. I may have laid it right next to his face, and when he didn’t even appear to stir, I have climbed into bed accidentally kicking him. Still he doesn’t APPEAR to wake up.
In the morning, he would leap out of bed “well, that wasn’t a bad night was it?”. I think the mood following that was what is known as “stabby”.
We all know men are “supposed” to have this natural ability to sleep through a baby cry, but sometimes I just think they pretend not to hear. However, they don’t suddenly lose their sense of smell…do they?
Nappies. Pooh filled nappies. Not my favourite part of being a parent, especially first thing in the morning. When Fatty gets into a nappy routine, it’s like that for about a week, and right now his nappies are first thing in the morning, and around bath time.
So, when I stumble into his room at 6.45am to re-insert his dummy (no milk until 7am!), if I get a whiff, I may pretend it’s just stale air. Why? Because Matthew’s shift begins at 7am. So I have sometimes just snuck back into my room and snuggled into bed without acting on my motherly instinct to put that
wobbly little bottom in a clean nappy.
When the 7am shift change kicks in, Matthew gets the milk and heads to the nursery. Now. Here’s the thing. Sometimes he will change the nappy, muttering, making “eurgh” noises, but sometimes…just sometimes…he can come back into our room and disappear off into the shower (WITHOUT MY CUP OF TEA), leaving me with a complaining child and I end up doing the nappy.
Another example, would be perhaps I smell a whiff, just as I’m going to fake a necessary visit to the loo (with a quick game of DrawSomething to boot), but as I turn around, I see Matthew hurrying down the stairs with his arms full of laundry and rushing into the virtually sound proof utility room HE NEVER DOES LAUNDRY!!! Darn it. I end up changing the nappy. One of us suddenly has some pressing paper work/tidying/phone calls/nipping to the shop as soon as the sweet scent of dying animals makes it’s way across the room where the fat one is sitting read faced and grunting.
At night, as DH is about to come to bed the baby makes a noise, he’s just about to go to the loo, but I pretend not to have woken up, so he has to deal with him. As a direct response to this, he feigns not hearing the noises over night, even though we both know he has because at one point he shakes me awake and tells me that the baby is crying. In the morning I point this out, he denies all knowledge. I’d believe him if he hadn’t also remembered me calling him a rude name.
Nappies and sleep, it’s become a competitive avoidance game, “it’s your turn”, no “it’s def’ you, I did the pooh 3 days ago” “I DID FIVE YESTERDAY”. The daily battle is then interrupted by bargaining “if you wipe his bottom I’ll do the nappy”, “I’ve been at work all day!…YES, I know staying at home with the boys is work but…no, you’re right nobody has wiped snot on my shoulder…no, my phone conversation wasn’t interrupted by EXCUSE ME MUMMAY I NEED FIVE MORE CREAM BISCUITS OR I’LL DIE…oh ok” or my personal favourite “I’ll let you pick, you can either tidy the pots up from dinner, or go up to the child shouting on the landing”.
I’m assuming this stops as soon as they can wipe their own bottoms? Or do I need to reserve a few for when it’s time to bargain out the “sex” talk, as I’m RUBBISH at “Rock, Paper, Scissors”.