Time seems to fly, the things-to-do build up and “taking it easy” is difficult, some days. I feel quite well, physically, and I love to go to the seafront and breath the salty air and just walk and be peaceful. It makes me feel good and think I should do things. Tidy up the house. And sort out my documents. And maybe start looking for a house to buy. And dial in to that work meeting. And arrange Pallino’s birthday party. And bake a cake for our guests on Saturday. And load the washing machine again. And write. And meet people.
I try. But sometimes I stop and try to remember what I was trying to do. Or I sit in the car with the wrong key and wonder why the engine doesn’t start. Or L sends me a text asking if I called xyz and I don’t know what he’s talking about. Yesterday I was in bed at 9pm, I had not finished my dinner, I had not brushed my teeth, I had not changed the baby. Pallino was finally sleeping, and I just didn’t want to move anymore.
You’d think I could do one thing after each feed. Feed, put the baby down, have an hour for myself, feed again. But the reality is that I have to hold the baby for a while after each feed to help him burp. After that he sleeps in my arms and I’m quite sleepy myself. The moment I put him down, he wakes up and starts crying. So I have two alternatives: I leave him there, telling him that I have something to do, and he keeps crying; or I pick him up again, and I have only one arm to do whatever I wanted to do, and no will to move from the chair anymore. Now, it must be some trick of nature, but hearing your baby crying starts some ancient response in your mind that stops you from concentrating on anything else. You mum HAVE to do something. That’s hard (but necessary for survival: it’s the same mechanism that wakes me up at night to feed the baby; dads don’t wake up). After a while, I give in and pick him up. Maybe after I had a shower, or some breakfast. And then it’s time for another feed. A whole day can go on like this, and at the end I haven’t done anything (well, technically I had kept a little human being alive and safe and well fed). If I go out, I need to time it well: I leave just after a feed, I take the bus (it takes about 40 minutes to get to the town centre), I walk for about an hour or a bit longer, I go to a café to have lunch and feed LittleOne, I walk slowly back to the bus stop and go home, I feed him again at home. Luckily, when we’re walking or on the bus he sleeps, so it’s tiring but manageable, and I feel much better when I do go out. Sometimes we go to the nursery in time to pick up Pallino and we walk back home together. It’s about 1.2 miles, and Pallino loves it. At the end I’m tired though.
Is this “taking it easy”?