Now, let me preface this rant by saying that I absolutely adore my son and would gladly sacrifice everything to ensure his happiness, and that my heart swells with love at his every cheeky smile and infectious laugh. That being said, what the hell has happened to me?
I’m unable to answer the question ‘how are you?’ without it rapidly becoming a rambling reply about my son. Sadly, the conversations with my husband have been the most affected, with us often discussing at length the maintenance of ‘The Beast’ – as we’ve affectionately nicknamed him. Not to mention, I’ve developed a disturbing aversion to higher temperatures. And, perhaps the most worrying of all, I completely forgot about the start of the summer sales. THE SALES, PEOPLE!
I promised myself time and time again that I somehow would be the exception to the rule and not be one of those parents that ceases to have their own life, the moment their offspring arrives into the world. Not to say, that I’ve become a hermit by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, I’m often out and about with my little companion, going for walks to the park, lunch with friends and visiting the occasional bar…weather permitting of course. But, more and more, I realise that the Daddy Jimi persona is taking over at a rapid rate.
Previously, I thought it would be a matter of simply finding the right balance of fatherhood and Jimihood. Ah, dear reader, if only it were so easy. As much as I revere my boy, he has relentlessly chipped away at my identity, leaving me a mere husk of my former self.
Take the recent heatwave, for example. I have long worshiped the sun and all the fiery goodness it has to offer. Now, of course, I can’t enjoy it in the slightest, constantly worried if the little’un is well hydrated or overheating, and lathered up in factor 100+ sunscreen. Gone are the days, where I would merrily swan about in the sizzling summer heat and bake myself to a nice toasty golden brown in honour of my Australian heritage. In a horrifying turn of events, I recently found myself relieved when the temperatures went back under 30° again. What have I become???
Then there is my obsession with his bodily fluids. I barely take that much notice of my own, yet I find myself dutifully recording his inputs and outputs, and then actually consulting others about it. Truly, bizarre! On a side note, it’s amazing how quickly one adapts to being thrown up upon on a daily basis.
Of course, as any parent will tell you – when they’ve had a few wines after the monsters are tucked safely up in bed – it’s a ridiculously hard, yet ultimately rewarding, experience. Regardless, I’m quietly confident that I’ll slowly but surely be able to reclaim a semblance of who I used to be…why are you laughing?
May the gods have mercy on my soul.