My son turned 2 last week. He is honestly fantastic and I love him beyond words, but my god the realism of a child hits like a tonne of bricks. He was very much an 'unplanned' baby (contraceptive pill and Crohn's disease...yikes).
I was 28 at the time, and it never really hit me that pregnancy actually leads to a baby. That sounds stupid but I hope someone understands what I mean. 9 months of being fussed over, being offered a seat on the train to work, eating whatever and whenever you please. Then one day it's over and you're left with a huge flabby belly, maternity pads coming out of your ears and a screaming purple babe who suddenly depends on you for survival.
His first 2 months of life were stressful and exhausting due to allergies which took for him to be hospitalised for 2 weeks to find. I was trying to breastfeed and convinced myself that my partner would be disgusted if I stopped. I've never suffered from any sort of mental health or anxiety issue before, and then before I knew it, I was being prescribed antidepressants and arranging counselling sessions.
I think part of the shock for me is that people only ever tell you the good things. The lovely cute little baby. The smiles, the giggles, the first steps. It's not often you hear someone actually say that some days are absolutely fu*king sh*t. There are days which feel like they go on for months (more often than not).
I don't regret having my boy, but my God, I wish there was more honesty surrounding it.