Learning to leave the house

The first time we left the house as a family was a week after my second child, Audrey, had been born. We were off to visit some trees that had been decorated with knitted jackets – I think we just needed something to do.  It was a cold November morning so obviously snowsuits, mittens, hats and cosy-toes were all essentials. Feeling very sleep deprived and still in a post-birth haze, I tried to think through all the possible clothes, food, drinks and changing equipment we could need for the trip. My husband loaded up the car.

Just as we were ready to leave the house I discovered that Audrey had had a nappy explosion as only a newborn knows how. So it was off with the snowsuits, a thorough bath and an entire set of new clothes.  This was followed by a 20 minute breast feed to calm her down from the shock of being stripped naked and bathed. “Take two”, we tried to make light of the situation as everyone started to get slightly stressed squeezing children swamped in snowsuits back into their car seats.

We were just about ready to set off for the second time when Audrey’s feed decided to make a dramatic reappearance. With absolutely no idea of what had happened she sat in her car seat with her front covered in a puddle of vomit. I couldn’t believe how difficult this little trip was becoming. We all traipsed back into the house with Audrey and her car seat. This time we opted for a sponge clean.

On our third attempt, Ewan, 20 months, kicked up a huge fuss about being strapped into his car seat, and on closer inspection I discovered that he now needed his nappy changing. Just to finally get out and escape the four walls of our living room I considered leaving the nappy and putting up with the smell...but then with both children screaming we decided to get everyone back out of the car and head in for a change. By that point I felt as though the little energy I had mustered for the trip had completely gone. I plonked myself down on the sofa and began breast feeding to stop the distressing sound of Audrey’s crying. My husband dealt with the nappy. Feeling rather emotional and little destitute I declared that that was me done. We had failed and I was never leaving the house again.

As ever, the person to lift my spirits when I need it, my husband returned from the kitchen with an enormous shot of brandy for me in the spotty glass with ‘you Rock’ written on the side – a glass that I’d given him for his 21^st and we’d used a lot through uni. I burst out laughing at the sight of the drink – the excitement of a shot mixed with shock at how completely inappropriate it was. It couldn’t have felt further from the situation we were experiencing.

Whether it was the hilarity or the brandy, something got me back on track and we successfully made it out on our fourth attempt.

Emily, Bristol