It’ll be no surprise to other new parents out there that having a baby can be like chucking a bomb into your cosy, stable, no-hassle relationship. Suddenly everything you used to do without a second thought is basically impossible, like going out for a cocktail, or sleeping in or doing the no pants dance (unless you can rope in the parentals or are good at military-style planning). At the same time, you’ll find that all conversations end with one of you saying, ‘Um, sorry, but I just forgot what we were talking about’ and the other replying, ‘Don’t look at me for help, I got up 57 times last night.’
So Valentine’s Day for us, I expect, will be at the very most a 6pm burrito down the road while the bubba hangs out next to us in his pram, giving us the evil eye because we’re cutting into his bath-time. And as I write this, I’ve yet to actually BUY Mr Chick a card… even though I did that entire post on my favourite Valentine’s cards a week or so ago. You’d think I’d have the smarts to whip out my credit card while writing that post and buy a card from Etsy on the spot so it arrived in time, right? Yeah, well, you thought wrong, my friend.
I’ll either a) grab one from the half-price stand at the post office in a mad rush and give it to him a week late, which is what happened for his birthday last year (yes, I am crap, but Charlie was barely 2 months old then and I was barely functioning) or b) make him one myself. I hear that craft will taking over my life in a big way in the years to come so I may as well get a jump on things. It’ll all be handmade from now on. I’m going to be one of those hippie mothers who gives people jam for Christmas with a tag I have whipped up on my personal letter-press machine. Mr Chick can stop expecting cool cards. It’s all going to be weird crafty homemade shit from now on.
Plus, last minute and hand-made dovetails nicely with my new philosophy of ‘Do what you can do and don’t become consumed with guilt’. I had to either adopt that as my mantra, or end up in the funny farm, when I realised I was fast becoming a bad friend, wife, mother, business owner etc etc. Now I do what I can do. And the stuff I can’t do, I try not to tie myself in massive pretzel-style knots over. Otherwise known to perfectionists (don’t know any of those, do you?) as ‘letting go’.
I’ll feel guilty anyway though, because Mr Chick always pushes the boat out on V Day. Maybe I’ll bake him a heart-shaped cake we can have with a sneaky vino, once the bubba’s in bed. I just need to find a heart-shaped cake tin. Before tomorrow. Oh god.
What are you doing on V Day, if anything? Have munchkins killed the romance at your place? Please tell me it’s only temporary.