A right old mess


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April 5, 2013MeMyselfandEyeNo comments

A right old mess

“You look like a mum” she says, following the trail of undigested milk down my top.

“Great” I reply. Knowing I’ve now got to change. Change, yes, but not just my top.

I posted the above photo three weeks ago. Some two weeks after Harry was born. I hadn’t shaved for most of those two weeks. I hadn’t had my hair cut for nearly three times as long. I was a mess – and not just because of the sleep deprived state of mind.

I was digging around in drawers looking for things that didn’t really need an iron – even if they were of a state where, pre-Harry, I wouldn’t have dared leave the house without ironing them. I was wearing jeans that stood up almost by themselves – trainers with a split through the sole – shoes where the lacquer had cracked long ago. I needed an urgent shop; I just couldn’t be bothered.

I hate shopping – hate having to find clothes designed for a body shape I’m too lazy to do anything about. So I do mass shops, usually online; usually with different colourways of the same thing. I then wear them to death – until holes, fat stains and age take their toll.

And then Harry was born. And now I find myself wearing clean, but crumpled clothes – that soon become dirty as another piece of undigested milk splatters across them. Unfortunately I often notice too late. A tell-tale yellowing blob, dry and hardening – was found on the crotch of my trousers, just as I stood up in a meeting. Had anyone else noticed it was there? If they did, do they know I have a new baby? Oh please say they do?

Sometimes you notice before you go out. Then you have to decide if you can pass it off – oh this old thing – or go back and change. Given that it may have taken us an hour to get to the point where we are heading out, that I have nothing ironed – that the only other thing to wear, is already covered in stains – is it really worth it?

The biggest worry, if that’s not over hamming it slightly, is that I can no longer detect the presence of the childlike vom on me. When you can’t smell it – how will you ever know it’s there until it is too late?

At least I’ve had my hair cut since then. 



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