Upfront

THAT DIDN’T TAKE long. Three weeks back in work and I am already nostalgic for those halcyon days of maternity leave. Not nostalgic enough to risk getting up the Damien again, obviously. There’s nostalgia and then there’s certifiable madness.

Apparently, having already had twins I am four times more likely than the average woman to conceive multiples again. The odds get worse because I am overweight and over 35. Roll on the menopause.

Ah, from here to maternity. Some of those mother-working-in-the-home days seemed to have a lot more than 24 hours in them and not in a good way. Those were the days when I pushed the pram around town in circles in the rain because it was preferable to going home and – dear God, no – minding them. Days when I’d trick my mother into a “lunch” that would last all day because the extra pair of hands meant the difference between coping and collapsing. They were days filled with screams, tears, temper-tantrums and I reckon the babies can’t have been too happy on those occasions either.

Minding babies at home is hard work. It is really challenging, at times stressful, at other times extremely stressful, work. But now I look back and can’t remember any of that. All I can see are scenes from a Disney movie. Cooing, giggling, adorable babies. Days spent wandering from one mixed berry and white-chocolate cheesecake café experience to the next, while they slept, out of their heads on breastmilk, in the pram. It was spring and then summer. There were walks in the park, and strolls by the sea. You were breastfeeding so the countless banoffi pies didn’t matter and you lost weight while stuffing your face. Happy days.

Yes, I’m still enjoying the break from real work that work allows but I can’t help getting misty-eyed remembering the hours spent gazing at the two of them in our bed, napping like javelin throwers in repose. It all seems like an 11-month holiday with an all-you-can-eat buffet thrown in.

I changed while on maternity leave. I became a better person. BC (before children) I was a pedestrian delinquent. After a lifetime of jaywalking, the introduction of the pram saw me waiting for the green man before crossing. My bad TV habits faded. I didn't watch Big Brotherfor the first time in years because it didn't seem important. I washed my hands more often. I had momversations with people I didn't know in doctors' waiting rooms and at bus stops. I liked it.

When the doorbell rang, I answered, with baby, sometimes two babies, in arms. BC I never bothered answering the door. If it was someone who knew me they would have rung first, or texted from outside the door. And if it was someone who didn't know me then what were they doing disturbing me in the middle of Coronation Street? Grrr. On maternity leave, in the company of two babies who couldn't talk yet or play Scrabble, I was delighted to answer the door. So I had great chats with people from Airtricity, Eircom and Bord Gais. Not much was done in the way of actual business, but talking about the Big Switch or wind turbines was very enjoyable, I must say.

Because going to the shops required military planning, I ordered baby gear online. It was cheaper, hassle-free and came with the added bonus of a constant stream of delivery men. One of these gentlemen, they were always gentlemen, callers also doubled as a kind of medical assistant when he clocked an occurrence in the pram one morning. “Missus,” he said as he dumped the package and exited at speed, “one of your babies is after puking through its nose”. Happy days.

I had great adventures. The first time I took the pram/heavy goods vehicle on a bus was the best. It took me two buses to get back to the place of my own babyhood. I sat on a bench in Sandymount Green and ate chips from Borza’s.

Back on the bus, I was feeling very pleased with myself as we pulled into the stop on O’Connell Street. The massive queue of people waiting to get on was slightly intimidating. The driver hadn’t bothered to lower the ramp, but I gamely hoisted the four-wheel-drive pavement-wards. The wheels got stuck in the space between the bus and the pavement. And when a man at the top of the queue pulled the pram out, the wheels came off. So there I was, stranded on main street Ireland. A young fella, of about 16, appeared holding the wheels and, as though he’d been doing it all his life, fixed them back on. He disappeared so fast I never got to say thank you. (Thank you.) They were good times.

I came back to work with a post-maternity-leave glow. I know because several people told me. So now the glow has gone and I want it back. But as a glow-getting strategy, attempting to expand the family seems a bit drastic. Maybe.

This weekend Róisín swears she will start training for the Flora women’s mini-marathon on June 7th. She’s doing it for Cystic Fibrosis charity 1 in 1000. Guilt her into buying a pair of runners by making a donation at mycharity.ie/event/roisin_ingles_event