Nothing prepared me for the physicality of motherhood, says Sinead, 42, mother of Fin.
I knew about the lack of sleep, but no one ever told me about all that trekking about with the buggy, the endless chasing after toddlers, the walks home with a three year old on your back. That’s before you’ve mopped the floor, batch cooked for 20 or hoovered the car.
Now I look at women who had eight or ten children and wonder how the hell did they do it. They must have been carrying a two or three stone weight in their arms most of the time. I would give anything to be 23 and doing this job. I don’t think it’s a job for a 40-year-old. I am ashamed to say that because I wish I had factored that in before I had my son, but I know it would not have stopped me from having him. But I can’t help worrying he’s missing out.
I’m propped up on coffee, spaced and unresponsive, frazzled when I’m tired. And yet it’s probably the guilt that drives me on. I never ever tell him I won’t pick him up, never ever wimp out of a trip to the park, because I can’t let it be said I’m too old for the job. But I feel old, all the time.Friends tell me I have wisdom I never had in my 20s, but I’m not too sure. But I do comfort myself with the fact that I’m not hungover. And I’m definitely not drunk.
In conversation with Nikki Walsh.
Nikki Walsh is a writer and editor with a passion for what makes us tick. She lives in Dublin with her husband, her son and a heap of books, mostly on psychology.
Join Nikki next week for more mum rants.
