firsts

It's been a week of firsts.

First quasi-hangover since mid 2013

I had three glasses of wine the other night. I didn't wear a maxi dress, my boobs didn't explode, but I did do a dance-a-thon shimmy sandwich between two gay workmates of mine on the dancefloor.  Pictorial evidence suggests I had a good time.
Stonking headache the next day; Sauvignon's fault.
But hell it felt good to let my hair down on a sunny terrace in Mayfair with a bunch of work friends, catch up on the gossip and be a normal sort of person for a while. Only one asked "How're the twins?" and to be fair he didn't get the memo in Belgium.

First major poonami

It was so bad I had to Whatsapp a photo to the Brit at work so he could see for himself (labeled "Warning: sensitive content."
Sebastian decided to have a massive massive pooh, right as the postman rung the doorbell, and I had to answer it carrying him upside down, shit everywhere, and sign for a package. (Baby clothes, as per usual.)
It was literally everywhere. I have never in my life. I needed about 23 wet wipes to clean the mess, and his changing mat will never look the same. Poor little bastard looked shocked for about half an hour, and also decided to vomit while I was hanging him upside down (my fault.)

It's a worthwhile milestone. I am smug.

First realisation that I couldn't be a full-time mum forever

Last night, 10:10pm, haggled.  "Babe. I think I'm going to go back to work in October."

Brit: You're only due back in January?

Peas: I know. I can't take this anymore. I can't do this. I'm a bad mother. I can't get him to sleep. A nanny can do this, not me.

Obviously I won't be going back in October.  It was a bad night last night.

First picnic of the summer

That was today. I organised it with my antenatal class.

Major. Achievement. Unlocked.

FUCK I'm tired.