Often devoid of wine

After a rinse-and-repeat type of fortnight, my daughter and I broke the monotony mould today and got out of the house to have lunch with a fantabulous bunch of friends. 

It was an excellent little adventure - the company was predictably good, the cafe was refreshingly child friendly, the food was scrummy and the sunshine  even showed up and put in a full day at the office. 

Somewhere between tasting the berry coulis and doing my best to stop Buggy from licking the highchair tray, conversation - as is to be expected among a group of friends - turned to what we have all been getting up to as of late. 

As everyone rattled off their latest life instalments, I started to feel a peculiar sense of mumness creeping in. Threw off the nine-to-five chains and started freelancing. Getting ready for graduation. Saving to spend a(nother) year in Europe. Bought a house.

Solid life gems with plenty of substance, complete with interesting back stories and future leads. The type that make you put on your best inquiring face and probe to find out more, and spur a tsunami of head-nodding around the table.

Really? Had no one else been washing wee off their sock? Rolling around on the floor like an oversized toddler in the (completely false) hope that the baby might copy? Singing the same song over and over and over and over again because all the other songs in the known universe inexplicably elicit a quivering upper lip? Washing banana smoosh out of their ponytail AGAIN? 

Having spent the last five and a bit months in a new mummy cocoon, and the two months before that wallowing on the couch in heavily-pregnant-during-an-unprecedented-summer-heatwave-misery, it seems impossible to me that the world has continued to spin on its ordinary axis. 

In the space of 13 months, just a smidgen over a single year, my reality has become a complete unreality and the unimaginable has become the every day. 

For now, there are no more work functions, no more Friday night drinks, no more spontaneous romantic weekend trips down the coast or up the mountain. There are no more sneaky cigarettes, no more Sunday sleep-ins, no more carefree 'pops' to the grocery shop. 

Instead, there are the mum days. The wonderful and wondrous, mad and maddening mum days - sometimes awe-inspiring, sometimes akin to dragging your feet through a concrete swimming pool, often devoid of wine and always measured in nappies. 

And while a trip to Europe sounds positively blissful, I'll happily take the curious mum days for now. Although, a relaxing overnight trip to a European inspired hotel with a complimentary buffet breakfast wouldn't go astray!

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