Fine

It’s something people ask all the time, whether or not you have an 11 week old baby or not. They ask how you are. If you’re anything like me you’ll say ‘fine’ without even really thinking about it because pretty much, more or less, that’s what people expect to hear.

And that’s cool, I expect the same from you.

If one of my Mum friends asks me I might venture ‘ok but tired’ or ‘ok but needing a break’. If my husband asks me at the end of a long day I might just reply with a string of expletives and that’s ok too.

At Baxter’s six week check the health visitor asked me how I was, and I said fine because

a) That’s what I always say

b) I’m fine. Happy even. Yes I’m tired, yes there are days when I feel a bit too close to meltdown territory. Yes I often want to clmb back into bed ten minutes after I stagger out of it. But isn’t that what I should feel at this point?

She did that facial twitch thing that health visitors often do. I think the response ‘fine’ must be highlighted as a potential flash point. But then I thought about what she would think if I’d been overly effusive and told her things were going amazingly, swimmingly, fantastically well. And I imagine she might have called me out on that.

What if I’d told her the truth. That at least once this week I’ve wandered about for goodness knows how long with a boob on show because I was distracted and forgot to fasten everything back up after a feed. That I cried because I had so much sick on me it actually soaked through to my pants. That I cried when I realised the big kids toe nails were so long they looked like circus freaks because I forgot to cut them. That I laughed when Grier chewed up and spat out her lovingly prepared home cooked dinner in lots of little balls on her plate because I had no tears left and laughter seemed like the best alternative.

Listen, there is no right answer. But if I ask you if you’re fine and you really want to tell me the truth, go for it. Let it all hang out (boobs and all). Don’t be frightened to give me it with both barrels. I can take it, I can probably raise you a sick story or two.