proselytising

I can't even remember what I used to talk about before I talked only about my baby. 

These days, people start almost all conversations along the lines of, "Are you getting any sleep?" or simply, "How's Conrad?". But I'm not irritated about that little pigeonhole I occupy now, no, I'm overjoyed, because those questions are an opening to talk about my baby! Even if it's a generic, "How are you feeling?", then I give a baby-focused answer. 

My world is tiny now. News, current affairs, politics, even books and the arts, all are just an annoyance, forcing the cogs to chug over in the left side of my brain when all I want to do is float around in the right hemisphere, mainlining oxytocin and baby smell. I do attempt to, at some point in any conversation, talk about other topics, but I have to consciously search around for the old words to use, and I'm perfectly content to bang on about baby minutiae if the other person seems interested.

Before Conrad was born I was determined not to be that sorry, downtrodden person whose infant takes over her whole existence, that I would keep space for me. The thing is, this IS now the real me, but I'm not an effaced drudge; I feel stimulated and renewed. The baby is far, far, far and away the biggest thing in my life, not only right now, but ever. My dad dying, relationship breakups, new jobs, movements within friendships, overseas travel: their impact was like a leaf falling onto a puddle in comparison with the great splashing gumboot of new motherhood. 

It's hard to remember that others might not find the topic quite so fascinating. Worse, I find myself gushing at people that they just HAVE to get one of these babies in their lives too: Don't have a partner? Not ready? Too broke? Don't really want kids? Pah! Just do it anyway, don't let those teeny details get in the way! I'm so immersed, and so blinkered, that I struggle to not proselytise about parenthood.