I Just Wrote To Say I’m Sorry.

Straight off the back of last week’s post about Mummy Guilt, the words “I’m sorry” are usually never too far behind. I find myself saying I’m sorry way more often than I did before I become a parent. So this week I’d like to take the time to say sorry for all the things I feel the need to apologise for. 

I’m sorry for always talking about my child. It’s like I never have anything interesting to say anymore. I can’t seem to contribute to adult conversations because my thought processes are specifically revolving around my child. I’m sure your love life, that new job you got, the political climate of our country, and your intensions of travelling overseas this year are all fascinating subjects that deserve lengthy, in depth and heartfelt discussions. But then again, so is my child’s ability to count to two, his newfound love of Star Wars, and the adorable way he says “Banana” at breakfast every morning.

I’m sorry for casually comparing my child’s poo’s colouring and consistency to different types of food, in front of you. This is in reference to a recent outing to a friend’s house. Changing our son on their couch (with their permission, and with a change mat), my husband remarks on the strange black like seeds that he’s noticed recently in our son’s poo. I casually just drop in “Oh, that’d be the kiwi fruit”. Our friend then announces, “And I’m never eating again”. People also get pretty turned off when you describe to them how carrots, blueberries and lentils tend to come out the other end still whole. It’s really weird. 

I’m sorry for having to say no to going out. Or cancelling at the last minute. Or asking you to make plans weeks in advance just so I can turn up. And then cancelling again at the last minute. Or bringing my child along, when I clearly wasn’t intending to do so, thus disrupting everyone’s plans for a peaceful and uneventful catch up. And then inevitably having to leave early because my child needs to be fed, changed, put down for a nap, or is acting like the spawn of Satan. Please keep inviting me to things. I promise I’ll get better at adulting sooner or later. 

I’m sorry when the miracle of miracles happen, and I can go out spontaneously, and I call my friends to see if anyone is free to join me on my adventures, and NO ONE is free, that I then get all sulky and upset and moan that no one likes me, and I have no friends. I promise I’ll stop calling you doody-heads behind your backs. 

I’m sorry Stormaggedon for seemingly abandoning you constantly for my own extracurricular activities. My son who seemed to be ignoring me for weeks, on the one night that I have to rush out the door to go to rehearsal for a play that I’ve just been cast in, wonders up to me book in hand, holds it up and says “Ta?” I then have to break his precious heart by explaning that “Mummy has to go now, by why don’t you get Daddy to read it?” His little crest fallen tears filled face and screams tell me “But I don’t want DADDY to read it, I want YOU to read it!”  Serves me right for wanting, and thinking I deserve, a life outside of this house. I’m sorry to be so sorely mistaken. 
I’m sorry to my husband for neglecting him as of late. I’ll leave it at that, you’ve all got imaginations. 

And finally, I’m sorry if I’ve put you off having kids because of the nightmarish scenarios I’ve described over time in my blog. Truely, underneath it all it’s a wonderful experience. Just be prepared to say I’m sorry a lot. 


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