Shortly after I found out I was pregnant with my eldest we decided we needed to get our act together.
Gone were the days of just hopping round London, bustling on the tube, doing the weekly shop at the Sainsburys Local at the bottom of the road.
In short it was time to grow up.
It was time to adult
I mean we were about to become responsible for a whole other human, it was time to grow up.
It was time to become Mummy.
It was time for a family car
We headed to our local Peugeot garage to buy our first family car, having given up our solid Ford Fiestas when we moved down to London.
We oohed and ahhed over the various models in the showroom, the Peugeot 3008 in particular capturing my eye, before deciding that as we were only becoming a family of three we didn’t need anything that big in London. We weren’t planning on having any other children until my eldest was in school – for the simple reason we wouldn’t have been able to afford to. Ha. And here we are three kids later. I digress. We walked out of that showroom with a brand spanking Peugeot 207.
A three door version.
Silly naive us didn’t think about car seats and it being easier to have a back door that opened.
Newly pregnant me did not foresee having a section. Or how heavy a child in a car seat could be. The manoeuvring of yanking a car seat over the passenger side.
Still. A new car. A new car seat.
Maybe not quite as adult as I am these days with my three children strapped in a row. My massive tank patrolling the streets of Doha, and a pretty uncool mum-mobile tootling round Derby.
Major league adulting these days. I digress again….
It was time for meal planning
No more skipping dinner because after work drinks went on.
Gone were the days of rushing back via the chippy because we couldn’t be bothered.
It was time for well balanced meals. Making roasts on a Sunday. Baking. Oh the baking I did whilst pregnant was incredible.
We were such a team with the baking. My husband put forward ideas of what I could make, and then cleared out the way so I could make it. Many a happy hour was spent pounding away in our tiny kitchen in Clapham Common. The gorgeous Belfast sink filling with dishes.
Bakewell tarts. Flapjacks. Croissants (that went horribly wrong and the butter smears lasted for months). Chocolate cake. Cupcakes. Biscuits.
Set me up for baking with the children. A tradition that I adore, and makes me feel especially mumsy. Chocolate cornflake cakes are a particular favourite…..
It was time to have our home taken over
And I mean totally taken over.
By baby shit.
So much baby shit. For one so small they sure do take over your house with all sorts of junk.
Baby toys. When all they want is wires, plugs and flip flops.
It was time to have our lives changed
To take on a new job title as a parent. To learn on the job. Muddling our way through the type of parent we wanted to be, compared to the type of parent we are.
Learning. Growing. Adulting.
Except. I still feel the same as the 29 year old who was peeing on that stick. I feel no different to the 27 year old who moved to London. Or the 23 year old who graduated from Uni. I still walk past my old secondary school feeling like a child who shouldn’t be in charge of a pram.
Long story short. I am adulting without feeling like an adult.
And although I do some very grown up things. A lot of the time. Inside I haven’t changed at all.
My heart has grown and expanded as we’ve formed our own family unit.
But realistically, I’m not that different to the young girl who dreamed that one day she’d be a mum.
Except that now I am.