baby think-it-over

I know.

I've spent the last few months advocating telling people about the great artificial get-knocked-up project.

And there are advantages, really there are.

But aside from the obvious downsides (such as obnoxious middle-aged bachelor colleagues making comments like: Why don't you have an affair? That'd do the job), the other downside is that people ask you to babysit not out of the goodness of your heart, but as some kind of real live Baby Think-It-Over.

As if they're doing you a favour, not the other way around.

So it was in this spirit that I found myself with child on Saturday night.

With a six-month-old.

It seemed all eyes were on Meg as Baby S. was reverently passed over at 7pm: Will she make it through the night? Will she crack? Will she complain when she changes the dirty nappy? Will she get up at 3am to answer tiny cries? Will the reality of baby just be too much for our hopeful mother-to-be-to-be?

Ah, so many questions.

Not mine, of course.

I knew I'd be fine.

Ultimately.

And I was.

I get frustrated when people imply that I don't know what's coming to me; that if I did, somehow, I would suddenly, miraculously change my mind about all this.

Am I expected to know what it's like to have a new baby when I've never had one? Am I expected to come into motherhood ready? Custom-made mother? Off the rack?

Cause does anyone? Really?

I challenge all my critics - and sometimes I feel there are many - to find one new first-time mother who isn't bumbling around in the dark, trying to do her best. Who isn't just merely functioning, feeling her way.

I don't see why I should be expected to be any different, just because I've had so much longer to prepare than many other lucky people.

So much bloody longer to prepare.