Monday 17 March 2014

Week 131- breast pads, newborn nappies and having a breakdown in big Boots...

I'm standing in the big Boots in the centre of town, clutching a pack of newborn nappies, and I'm crying.

Proper, ugly-faced, nose-streaming sobs.

Because the penny has just dropped that a small person is going to be wearing the nappies sooner than some of the stuff in my fridge will go off.

And I'm shitting myself.

I know I thought I'd got a grip on proceedings a couple of weeks ago. 

But turned out that was phase one of general melt down.

That was the, 'you're not going to be working for the rest of the year and no one over the age of 3 will really be listening to what you have to say until at least 2015,' realisation.

The Boots breakdown, as it shall be known, came as I realised that this is all ACTUALLY going to be happening very soon. 

Like countable days away. 

And that I need to do some stuff before he comes.

So. I'm in Boots. 

Nancy is fast asleep. 

I've picked up some posh shampoo I neither need nor can afford, and think, right, now would be the perfect time to get some things for the new baby. 

I hop in the lift up to the baby floor, which I know aisle by aisle like the back of my hand. 

No problem. 

I'm cruising past the stretch mark cream. Easy. And I'm thinking I'll be out of here and home in time for a quick kip myself before Nancy wakes up. 

I put some breast pads in my basket and start to feel a tightening in my chest. 

Probably just acid so I down some Gaviscon and continue. 

Pick up some maternity pads. And let out a small whimper which appears to rise from nowhere. 

Perhaps  because baby shopping so far has involved collecting disposable pads for every soon to be bleeding/ lactating orifice. 

But then I grab hold of some newborn nappies. 

And here it comes. 

The tidal wave of emotion. 

The uncontrollable, shoulder-shaking, eye-scrunching tears. 

And I can't stop it. 

The 0-60 hormone injection is uncontrollable.

So I just let it happen. 

Beal my face off like a teenager who's just found out her favourite boy band are splitting up. 

I'm not sure how long I was there for. 

Long enough to develop walrus snot and for most of my mascara to wash off.

Long enough to get pins and needles in my feet from standing still for ages. 

So then I give myself the, now frequent, 'man up' pep talk, take a deep breath, wipe my nose on my sleeve and go and pay at the checkout.

On the plus side, turns out that little lot had earned me over a quid in Boots parenting points. 

If I keep this up, I'll have enough for some Chanel blusher before I know it.

That's going to be my mantra next time I feel another Boots breakdown coming on. 

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