The Baby Cry


I had no idea, literally no idea the effect that a high pitched wail from my babes rosebud lips could have over me. This miniature sized human can reduce me to a quivering wreck in seconds whilst a 6ft overweight, hulking male gym instructor attempting to intimidate me for merely reminding him my class was waiting and that he was ridiculously late barely got me raising an eyebrow. My seven week old has it nailed, gym brute you need to up your game, or come on over and get some tips! 

What I still cannot fathom is how something so perfect and pretty can go from hero to zero in milliseconds (and just to clarify we're back to the child here). But, when the poo hits the nappy, it's like an audible mic drop, those gooey gurgles check out on you, the bottom lip juts, the chin quivers and then, well then you have all of two seconds to ameliorate the situation or face the consequences. In this type of scenario Mother Nature has a mummy's sleep frazzled back, for there is a sound, a signifier of the problem that a mummy must fix. Be it a fart, a tummy gurgling or a dreaded explosion, which hilariously judging by some of Scarlett's shocked expressions, not even she can believe she's done, you've got the tools to get on in and repair. 

Then there is the feed, a baby doesn't just get peckish, they get HANGRY. They are that customer every restaurant dreads, they want to order their food, and get it immediately, no airs and graces, give them the grub or the bill won't get paid... oh and you just wait for that online review, it is not going to be pretty. Now, that can be harder to distinguish but, if in doubt, I've learnt to serve up the boob on a plate and await the results, this can be slightly trickier if about half a mile away from the nearest boob plating up facility, pushing the buggy in the rain. Believe me I've been there and my goodness Scarlett's cry had me practically running, determined look on face, staunchly ignoring the disapproving stares from passers by. At that point my internal voice was creating the dialogue I imagined they were having about me in their own heads. "What a terrible mother letting her baby cry" one must be muttering, "not even bothering to comfort it, how truly shocking" the old lady has to be thinking, "what's she doing out of the house anyway, she should be at home, how irresponsible" just has to be the thought process of another. I want to scream at them all, there's no point stopping to soothe her we've gone beyond that we're in full blown schizo mode. Yes, I'm not talking, know why? ... because like a footballer at a penalty shootout I'm totally focused on the end goal, and as for being out of the house, well that's because I live in bobbing 2017 and us women actually have lives, we now own our shizz, so do you want to just back the bob off?  Obviously, this is all in my paranoid mummy head, and perhaps they aren't thinking that and are actually more absorbed in their own problems, but hey, right now I'm not rational, that scream has turned me just a couple of pens and one of those fancy bendable 15cm ruler short of a pencil case. 

Moving on to the "I want to be held or else cry!" Scarlett has perfected this particular diva desire down to a T... a tantrum T. She no longer wants to ride in her ridiculously expensive pram pushed by her bitch, aka mummy, no, no, no, instead little miss requires her bitch to strap up and carry her in her little throne of a carrier so she can peruse the outside world at her leisure. If said desire is not met, lady Scarlett simply quivers the lip sending mummy into a panic of speedier pram pushing or making use of rumble strips. In fact, apalling as it sounds, this mummy has never been more grateful to the visually impaired whose requirement for bumpy, lumpy paving stones can literally save a full blown paddy. 

Finally we have the ... "what the hell I don't even know why I'm crying cry". It's a case of overstimulated, understimulated, overtired, or just beyond it all, and those, well they are tough as not easily remedied. These send spiders scuttling down every mum's spine, and bubba's state of mind can only be described as "fractious" ... well lets be honest there are a lot of other adjectives that spring to mind but all to rude to commit to paper.

So I'll end it there and let your imaginations fill in the gaps with some gloriously, disgusting expletives... go on ... do it for me, do it for you, and for every mum out there, because let's face it we may not say it but sometimes just sometimes we're all thinking it!

-Lottie

 

Lottie Keble-Wyatt is Baby Luno's very own blogger. Lottie is a pilates instructor, new mother and blogger. We love following her journey as she takes on motherhood! To get more of Lottie, follow her on Instagram @just_the_girl_fitness

In this photo, Lottie is wearing our best-selling nursing bra and postpartum leggings.

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