I bloody love the sun. I love summer and I love, love, love going on holiday to stinking hot places. Hell, I love the sun so much I even plan my ski trips at the end of the season to get the maximum sun exposure.
Now I’ve always been something of a party girl so surviving on 4 hours sleep, whilst never fun is not something new and the brain numbing monotony of baby-caring has been tempered by the busiest news time I’ve ever experienced. (Seriously you want to discuss Brexit/coups/labour party disintegration I’m your girl!) Yet my appalled reaction to the heatwave forecast on Sunday night’s weather made me realize just what a big change having a baby has had on my life…
- The WORRY
‘The baby monitors flashing 29’, that’s dangerous right?’, ‘there must be a 24hour store that sells fans somewhere near here’ ‘is she drinking enough’ and ‘oh my god her knees are RED’.
Just to add to the ridiculous amount of worry having a baby saddles you with the unexpected heat just adds a whole new layer that I’m just not equipped to deal with. How is there room so hot at night? How do you keep them cool? Just to add to the worry Matilda has obviously inherited her father’s pale celtic skin because she even managed to look slightly pink, wearing factor 50, after 0.02 seconds in the sun. BAH.
- The CLOTHES
I had a ruthless summer clothes cull just before my honeymoon and bought a gorgeous new summery wardrobe in a wedding dieted size 8. ‘I’ll wear them next summer’ I merrily told myself. Only ‘next’ summer is now last summer and I was 20+ week pregnant and the size of a bus. Which brings me to this summer. I’m in total denial that I’m no longer my wedding dieted size 8, nor even my slightly more normal size 10. Nothing fits. Yet I refuse to buy new clothes as I’m still in hope that I’ll miraculously lose 2 stone – I mean I’m breastfeeding still and EVERYONE promised me the weight would fall off. So for now I’m squeezing myself into once floaty maxi-dresses and wearing my shorts with maternity tee shirts so noone can see I can no longer do the zip up. It’s so shameful I feel like I have a bell tolling nun-wench behind me shouting ‘shame’ as I walk down the street…
I should just bite the bullet and purchase some summer clothes in a bigger size. Only, by the time my Asos delivery arrives the heatwave will have passed and the leggings will be back on, plus by this time next year I’ll be back to a size 8, of course.
- The DAYS OFF
As a working girl I had been known to put in a last minute sunny day holiday request or 2 and was no stranger to a last minute weekend camping trip to the sunny seaside. Turns out you can’t just hand in a holiday request to the baby in order to go sunbathing and I shudder at the amount of organizing a ‘spontaneous’ camping trip with baby in tow would ensue. Sunny trips to the common are now in the shade at all times and with about 3 bags worth of baby kit carted along and something essential forgotten.
Having said all that, trips to the common with baby in tow are great fun, just in a different way. Matilda is fascinated by grass and old leaves. Seriously, they keep her amused for ooooh all of about 20 mins. Winner! Even better, we have embraced al fresco dining. After all, there’s no scrubbing encrusted puree off the high chair or need to wipe yogurt off floor/cupboards/windows and she LOVES the dogs that inevitably come sniffing out the picnic debris.
So, even though I spent over an hour walking round an air conditioned Asda in a bid to get Matilda to nap in yesterdays heat, who doesn’t LOVE the sunshine. Britain on a sunny day is ruddy marvellous!