Before we decided to have a baby, I thought a lot about what being a mother would be like, but there were some respects in which my imagination failed me. Both are related to my living environment. I live in a first-floor flat with quite a few steps leading up to the front door from street level, and it did not occur to me that this would be what might politely be termed a “complete and utter ball-ache”, both in respect of getting myself and the baby outside, but also his many effects, meaning it requires at least two trips and, unless I am using the Babyzen Yoyo, which is extremely light, the assistance of my husband or sometimes my very kind neighbour. Without that pram and someone there to assist, I’d basically be housebound, which makes me feel pathetic and a tad vulnerable. (For a while I could pop the baby on a blanket in the communal hall while lugging the pram down the steps, but now that he is mobile he’s on a kamikaze mission to go headfirst after me.)
The other was toys. For some reason, I had not realised that there would be so many toys, and that not tripping over those toys in the dark at 3.55am when retrieving a bottle would become quite key.
