From the moment my newborn daughter woke me, my day became a litany of bodily requirements. Pee, drink, change nappy, feed, burp, feed, drink, soothe, pump breasts, change nappy, feed, burp, feed, soothe, eat, drink, soothe. Then panic when I realised I hadn't even showered yet, and it was nearly 10am.
As for healthy living? Forget it. I sucked on spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar. Ate family-sized blocks of chocolate to help stay awake. And if I was lucky enough to snatch a yoga stretch in between bouts of colic, it was to the tinkling melodies of her play gym rather than Sanskrit mantras.
My biggest daily excitement was waiting for my husband to get home so I could pass our baby over and pass out for 15 minutes. And every night included bouts of after-midnight breastfeeding hell.
The only time I felt like an actual person — and not just a baby-burping milk bar on legs — was during our daily walks. There was nothing like a friendly wave to remind me I was still alive. And it was rare that someone didn't accost us on the footpath, peek into the pram, and exclaim with delight over the only thing produced by me that didn't need an edit.
So there I was, strolling along the esplanade, steering the pram with one hand and holding a half-gulped churros with the other. As I pushed the pram past a pub, a man with broad shoulders and a black crew cut leaned over the rail like a debauched cock-fighting spectator, shouted 'We can make it another one for ya!' and raised the foaming head on a glass of frothy beer enthusiastically in my direction.
My first reaction was to squint at him in disbelief. I mean, really? In my sleep-deprived neurons of my brain I felt something akin to pity, and wondered if the idiot had any idea what state a woman's body was in after birthing. Does incontinence turn you on? How about stitches? Or cracked and bleeding nipples?
My second reaction, a nanosecond later, was more visceral. How dare he disrespect me? I was a nursing mother of a newborn baby girl. His comment was sexual harassment. It demeaned me. With a sense of outrage, I pulled the cover down over the pram and we kept briskly on our way.
One of my friends once said to me, 'Having kids is like a drug. They