Months 0-3: I wish people would stop telling me about how quickly time passes, because a sleepless night spent bouncing on a yoga ball as a last-ditch attempt to try and settle the baby = a very, very long time indeed. Whenever I hear someone admonishing me about 'enjoying them now' I sort of want to punch them, or hand them the baby to bounce while I have a several-hour nap.
Months 3-6: Baby somewhat less of a shithead. I begin edging away from the precipice of divorce and insanity and start of wiling away the night hours in sleep, rather than suicidal ideation.
Month 6-9 Still frequently isolated and bored out of my mind, but also able to praise baby for his good behaviour on beaches and planes and all that marvellous sitting and pulling up to stand he is doing.
Month 9-12 With the return to work and coursework time starts speeding up and essentially runs me over like an express train. All resolve about doing coursework in a timely manner flies out of the window as I spend my evenings on the sofa, catatonic with exhaustion. On the positive side, no longer resent son if he wakes up in the night since I tend to see so little of him during the day.
Months 12-16 Baby becomes a delightful human being - clever and gorgeous and utterly charming. His growing language comprehension offsets his tantrumy frustration although he remains stubborn as a mule. With the approach of galloping deadlines my mind becomes paralysed with stress, I feel unable to get on coursework in a timely manner so spend a lot of time lolling on sofas with migraines bemoaning everything and fantasising about being able to stop time by touching my index fingers and doing no coursework which only increases paralytic amounts of stress. Official current verdict - Time Going Way Too Damn Fast.
