Is this too personal?

I was thinking just yesterday about dating. Not me actually dating but the actual doing of dating.

The last time I ‘dated’, I would have been around 19. I didn’t carry around a mobile phone, let alone two back then.

I’ve heard a lot from friends about Tinder and all the dating sites and to be honest, those little apps turn into scary nightmares in my brain. Plus I’m so sick of my phone.

Is there still such a thing as sinking a few pots down at the local pub and having a conversation about Kenny and Warren G and significance of both in today’s popular culture (or lack thereof)?

Oh hang on, it’s a bit inappropriate for me to be sinking pots down at the local pub with my kid in tow.

So do single mums meet super rad people hanging at the local park, pushing their kid on the swing for the 81st time or helping their kid do a bush wee?

It’s all just a little complicated, but then again so am I. Does this mean that every single person in their mid thirties has complications or dare I say it… ‘baggage’ or ghosts of relationships past?

I seem to be an over-communicator of all my problems which means I can chuck them in a bin once I’ve over-analysed the crap out of them with anyone who will listen. Does it still mean I have baggage if I’ve binned it? I’m hoping the only baggage I have remaining can be tucked into my bumbag.

It’s such a huge world out there of super cool adventures with my kid and my cool-as-hell pals, Perhaps there will be a little bit of extra room in there one day for a hairy Blundstone-wearing gent?

One thing I know is that I just can’t change my daggy ways – I think they might be pretty set, which means acceptance of my love of Ken Done, Australiana, John Candy movie marathons, non-stop chatter about pointless topics such as how much I dislike the design of the ‘classic’ toilet brush set (the brush never sits right in the cradle), and the fact that I have problems with sitting still, are all part of the package.

For the time being, the whole dating thing seems well and truly out of my daggy league. I’m super happy to look forward to my daily date at the dinner table with Alfred. Even if he doesn’t yet understand the full complexities of Warren and Kenny G or how to use a semi colon appropriately (it’s a moment, not a pause), he still provides entertaining conversation that can see me right into the evening (‘what did you do at kinder today? I mashed the dirt mum and then I painted and then I used scissors and chopped it until it was wrecked’)

I’m deeply in love with this kid of mine. And he loves me. So I think he’s the best date of all.

Mum vs Wife

Sometimes I talk to my husband through my child. It really annoys me when I do it, but I still do it. It’s not funny, it’s condescending, but I can’t help it. Perhaps it makes me feel better. For example:
“Hey Alfie, why don’t we ask dad to pick up all the crusts on the floor?”
“Let’s see if dad can take you to the park so that mum can have a sleep on her face.”
“Why don’t you go into mum and dads room and wake up your father and show him how you have worked out how to squeal like a pinched pig?”
“Why don’t we ask dad to change your stinky nappy?”
“Let’s leave the wet washing on the floor and see if dad will hang it out.”
It’s not as if my husband doesn’t do anything. He does. Some weeks he parents more than me, some weeks I parent more than him. It all depends on our crazy work shifts. So I don’t know why I turn into a condescending brat using my son as a force field. Have I forgotten how to talk to my husband?
Now we are parents we seem so much more connected. We were connected before, but it’s different now. We still have the occasional fight – mainly about food management or domestic duties – but we get over a fight so much quicker now. We both know how to cheer up our son if he is sad, we have even busted out synchronised dances without a rehearsal. This is how connected we are.
But then there are things about our relationship that seem so disconnected. The other day I had a wax, not because I wanted to impress the old hubby, but because our son had swimming lessons later that week. I wear pyjamas now just in case I have to get up during the night. Sometimes I put these on within ten minutes of arriving home from work. I pull my bra off through my sleeve in front of my husband while giving him the low-down on my day. And yesterday I pointed to the aeroplane in the sky, forcing him to look.
Who am I now? When did I start wearing my husband’s socks to work? Why are farts now so ridiculously funny? Why did I just send my hubby a text saying ‘Alfie took a crap on the abacus’ rather than ‘You’re a spunk’?
It’s so bloody difficult finding the balance between being a wife and a mum, some days the roles just overlap. Some days they are so far removed from each other that it all becomes confusing and other days it just gels. What I do know is that in our little family we all seem to have a connection during the highs and the lows, even if it is laughing at farts, laughing at me or just doing a plain old robot dance in the kitchen while arguing through gritted teeth.  All in all, it gives us something to giggle about when we sit down for tea in our pj’s.

This post first appeared on Bubba West.