January has been everything I should have left in December. I didn’t magically metamorphosize (yeah I’ll use it as a verb what are you going to do?) into a better version of myself. One that remembers to wash her hair before little rodents make nests in it, writes on schedule, and reads every day. Shocking, I know. I want my money back.
Fine, the controversial honour of witnessing the passage of time is still free, so not the money, but, you know, outrageous. That’s all to say, I have not started the year as I mean for it to go on. That’s okay, I think. I didn’t make any resolutions. I did a dismissive hand gesture in the general direction of Ah, I don’t fucking know, we’ll just wait and see, won’t we? I’m far too preoccupied inside of my mind to be trying to better myself on purpose.
I just sort of hope that happens by itself as I get older and wiser. (Though if that were how it goes, all of those old people wouldn’t have voted for Brexit, would they?)
Well, we’re here, anyway. I really planned on taking a rest for a little longer and resuming the irregularly scheduled lack of programming here when Mila starts nursery at the end of the month, but what can I say? I miss you so. Forgive me for my absence, and this half baked comeback. You have no choice, so do it quickly.
I’m very much looking forward to having some personal time when Mila goes to nursery. I have hopes and dreams for how I want to spend it. I want to read more here on Substack, I want to write more. I want to take spontaneous trips to parts of London that don’t have good accessibility for the pram.
I’d very much like to learn how to order food for myself again. For three and a half years my daytime food choices have been filtered through the lens of “Will my children want to/be able to eat any of it?” I could take myself to brunch, order something the kids would have really hated, and not feel guilty. I honestly don’t even know what I enjoy eating at this point.
It’s not like I can go crazy - the girls only go to nursery two days a week. But for some reason people think, I kid you not, that I’m not going to know what to do with myself.
I tell them that ah I am so anxiously awaiting having some personal time. “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself!” they say, I’m being so serious.
“What in the ever loving fuck do you mean?!?!?!” I’d like to scream. All the working moms and the child free working adults who have said this to me, outside of their working hours, do they just sit there, counting the hours to go back to work again? I don’t understand. “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself” is the post-childbirth version of the pregnancy classic “Omg you look huge!”
I literally haven’t had a proper free day in more than three years; just going over the list of things I want to do with myself will take several days.
I know, I know. In reality, when people say “Omg you look huge!” they don’t really think you look that big, they just think you look pregnant. Yet calling someone huge is somehow miraculously less awkward than saying they look pregnant.
Next time you see a very pregnant lady, if you feel the urge to tell her she looks huge, I’m begging you, instead of that, look her up and down and tell her she looks pregnant. I just want to know what it would do to the vibes in the room, so let me know.* (*All joking aside, the word you’re looking for is “glowing”. If she’s very obviously not glowing, just run.)
And yes, when people say “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself!” It’s not because they think you’re boring and lost all your hobbies while motherhood has been slowly eating away at your identity until you have become nothing more than a shell of a human outside of the times you’re wiping up porridge with one hand and holding a baby with another. Upside down, by her feet.
It’s because they think you do so much during the day that leisure will feel unnatural. It’s a compliment, their way of saying that you work so hard that having free time will probably feel disorienting. And yet, all I hear is: “You probably have no hobbies or interests outside of your children.”
Maybe I should resolve to have an attitude adjustment this year, I don’t know. Nobody will be holding their breath for that one.
***
I know you’re already a better version of yourself than you were last year, friend. Not because it’s the new year, but because every time I see you, you’re better than you were before. I think you’re swell.
Better late than never, but Happy New Year. How are you?
Happy New Year! Give yourself a break, we don’t all have to be ambitious. I remember one year when my kids were both little, my new year’s resolution was to brush my teeth at least once a day. 😂
Happy New Year, Ani! To be honest, I've missed your posts and Substack hasn't been the same without you. No pressure, though...
Seriously, I hope you enjoy your hard-earned time on your own during nursery hours, wondering what to do with yourself. If some of that time is spent writing your wonderful posts here, then, that's a gain for us. But like I say, no pressure. We're all cheering for you anyway.