Expectation vs reality

So here’s the expectation vs reality of having a little bundle of blue (or pink)

I always imagined being married, having a dog a white picket fence, finding out I was pregnant and hugging my husband in total happiness and amazement and going on to have an adorable little girl.

Here’s the reality, Oscar my little BOY came as a huge surprise, one of those WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GOING TO DO surprises.

Pregnancy, I was expecting a few sick ups in the morning, the little movements and flutters of my baby kicking, my other half to be in sheer amazement of the baby moving and what my body was going through, and then of cause, a gas and air au-naturale serene water birth. Oh… And a glow.

In reality I was sick from the second I found out… Every time I smelt food, everytime I attempted to eat, every time I brushed my teeth, moved too fast, sneezed, blinked SICK and it was fucking exhausting. Then came those lovely flutters, those lovely fucking flutters (fucking liars)  feeling more like a fish flapping around out of water and progressively felt like I had an asbo thug attacking from the inside – kicking the shit out of my ribs and elbowing my pelvic floor. (Google fanny daggers, if you know.. You know) my labour – definitely not that serene water birth, I was induced, 3solid days of hell with Mr back to back- why don’t you kill me now Oscar. If you’ve not had a back to back birth let me tell you I was crying at 2 cm feeling like baby was trying to escape out my ass! , I also remember sicking up (again!) and pissing out a load of blood simultaneously in front of everyone . Call me the multi tasking queen. I begged my super cute Spanish midwife to flirt with the anaesthetist for my epidural. It was Desperation!!

Then comes the baby, that little bundle of cuteness you’ve spent your last £60 in Next on. You expect to go home as a family and it just be amazing. And it is. But then you get the thousands of visitors you’ve not seen in centuries turning up at your door ready to hold your very small pooey, sicky,  exploding baby, that your still very much not used to . Whilst YOU make THEM tea and coffee. But really the only person who needs coffee is you. Because you’ve not slept a full hour in the week since their birth,your boobs are like solid bowling balls 🎳. And you’ve seen less blood in a texas chainsaw massacre film.

P. S never got that GLOWIMG-20160804-WA0030.jpeg

Published by The Dempsey diaries

Just a mother, telling you of my shit stories, trying too hard to make you laugh.

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