You’re going to have to excuse my months late update as I backtrack on what the hell we’ve been doing since Jack’s arrival. Babies hey, can’t live with ’em…
A few weeks ago I went and cashed in a spa voucher that I had been hoarding since November last year. I wrangled up my mum to push Jack around in the pram while he slept so I could lay in uninterrupted silence and enjoy a two hour hot stone massage (umm, did you know that heaven is also spelt as h.o.t.s.t.o.n.e.m.a.s.s.a.g.e). When I went in to fill in the regular pre-treatment forms I lied. I was asked on a scale of 1-10 how stressed I was and my answer was a big fat lie. I said a 6. A little higher than average stress but not at my absolute limit. Probably seems harmless enough but truth be told my stress was at a level of maybe 2. Honestly saying a 2 makes me feel all dramatic because at that particular time I felt little to no stress. My real stress was probably a 1. At best. And yet I lied. I looked the lovely masseuse Samara in the face and talked about my stress indicator being at a 6 as she probed me on what was going on and how she could help.
Is this not the most bizarre thing in the world, to actually lie about how little you feel stressed. I guess I felt I had to say I was stressed, having a new baby and navigating a new life and all. Yet despite feeling almost too positive about things, I chickened out on openly admitting that I felt really good and this was purely just for a bit of relaxation and a treat to myself. Plus the expiry date was approaching on my voucher so I had to get my new-mum butt into gear and cash that bad boy in. Samara wanted me to be stressed. I feel everyone wants me to be stressed. And so to be the people pleaser that I am forever trying to stop being, I succumbed and tried to answer in a way that would make us all feel good. I could play my part of stressed out first time Mum and Samara could play the part of hero who could melt away that stress with a little scented oil and a bucket full of hot rocks. Silly Samara didn’t realise she was going to be my hero anyway… she needs to not be so hard on herself.
It kind of got me thinking about how much people want you to complain. If someone asks me how Jack’s sleep is (anyone with a child will tell you how many times you get asked if your baby is “a good sleeper”) and I answer honestly as we get 12 hours straight a night of him sleeping (this took a lot of work, no we weren’t just blessed with a sleeper), the first thing they then go to tell me “well don’t used to it”. I can see the disappointment in their faces as I steer from the regular rhyme of “Oh we aren’t getting any sleep” and they have to change directions from their normal knee jerk reactions. We’re all dying to be the busiest, the most tired, the one that OMG DONT EVEN TALK TO ME BEFORE MY MORNING COFFEE. I don’t even drink coffee so there’s my thoughts on that. I don’t know if we are all as busy and tired as we think we are, or if it just got a little bit cool to say that you were. Beats me, I’m still dancing on a strong 2 for my stress level.
(Jack was 3 weeks on in these pictures and it was our first proper full day out of the house. The sun was shining and I ate a medium rare steak, washed it down with a cider in the sunshine and listened to the guitarist play some acoustic pub classics at a decibel that was probably almost questionable for a new born to be around . But seriously… who could be stressed with that).