Dear future self,
Well done for managing to get knocked up again! High five to that! As much as it pains me to admit it, last pregnancy, you suffered what will forever be termed as ‘smug pregnancy syndrome’ or ‘SPRUGS’ for short. While you didn’t have a full on case of the SPRUGS, you definitely dabbled.
Working for a pregnancy magazine and being surrounded daily by baby related chatter didn’t help your cause. Researching birth plans, choosing strollers and drilling the resident midwife for breastfeeding advice wasn’t a chore, it was work.
Needless to say, it was with a decent dollop of confidence that you counted down the months, then days till the arrival of bub, confidently smug in the knowledge of the advantage you’d had, living in a baby bubble not only for the past nine months, but the previous two years.
You probably remember (or maybe you’ve blocked it out) but it came as one hell of a surprise to realize that, as super prepared as you were, you really didn’t have a clue about, well anything. There was an ‘L’ plate firmly fastened to the front of your highly attractive nursing bra (nothing sexier than a bra that can pop open at any second to show off a hugely swollen breast) that you really and truly had not expected to be there.
The stuff that was unfolding wasn’t included in ‘What To Expect’, or ‘Up the Duff’ (your pregnancy bible), nor had any of your mama friends enlightened you as to the icky, amusing and downright bizarre moments you’d experience in those first few weeks. These are the glorious things you’ve probably forgotten now that you have a toddler who can feed himself and sleep longer than three hours at a time (please god, let that be true).