You want to show up like you have it all figured out.
Your baby is fed, changed and sleeping peacefully in your trendy carrier. You haven't got a care in the world besides trying to help populate the world with a good person who also hopefully happens to be cute and smart. You're going to talk and catch-up, enjoy eating and maybe drinking. And you're going to go home near the end of the party with time to fold the laundry and file your nails better, maybe even answer some emails.
Except you have nothing figured out. Because it changes every minute. And they're never full for very long, or clean or sleeping. They're never anything for long enough - unless you're ready for them to wake up or eat, then they sleep for four hours or play ice cream cone with your nipple.
Except they eventually remain perfect (duh) because they're your kid, and even if they're not a good person for some reason in the future, somehow I can't imagine ever not being on her side. Could I turn in my family unabomber?
On the lighter side, thing after thing pops up that you want to do. From dinner with the girls to concerts to doing dishes without an effing dishwasher in this land of modern technology and convenience.
You have to make blog posts shorter - using Grey's Anatomy monologue voiceover-style repetition - and even more far between. You have to rely on coffee and toothless smiles to get you through each trying moment. You wait for her to laugh.
You can have meaningful conversations over screams if the other person doesn't mind too much. You can pick how to carry your baby and style his hair. You can have Chu-His or not and will always find a way to enjoy your food. You can shower and have a clean house, or leave those tasks for another day if ever. You can feed them however you choose, get them to sleep however you like. You can make decisions on your own. You can laugh about anything. You can retire your blog from its readership of 35.
You can have caffeine to help with the tired eyes, and extra calories as you eeking-ly wait for teeth to come in. You can take them to daycare or not or change it up. You can enjoy wishing for the next monumental molehill milestone. You can just stare and stare and talk and giggle with your partner: "Butters, this is called 'doting.' We used to do it to you." You can refreshingly realize you were wrong about the following things:
Just have them get used to loud noises--When you spent a long time getting them to sleep, it's a big deal when the TV volume suddenly gets loud or the dog barks, or moves.
Just let them bear the shots; they won't remember a thing--Their pain is your pain now.
Just let them cry--It's an irritating sound.
Just drop them off--What if they get lonely or cold or annoy them? Am I doing the right thing?
Ultimately, you can do it. It's always NBD in hindsight.
Your baby is fed, changed and sleeping peacefully in your trendy carrier. You haven't got a care in the world besides trying to help populate the world with a good person who also hopefully happens to be cute and smart. You're going to talk and catch-up, enjoy eating and maybe drinking. And you're going to go home near the end of the party with time to fold the laundry and file your nails better, maybe even answer some emails.
Except you have nothing figured out. Because it changes every minute. And they're never full for very long, or clean or sleeping. They're never anything for long enough - unless you're ready for them to wake up or eat, then they sleep for four hours or play ice cream cone with your nipple.
Except they eventually remain perfect (duh) because they're your kid, and even if they're not a good person for some reason in the future, somehow I can't imagine ever not being on her side. Could I turn in my family unabomber?
On the lighter side, thing after thing pops up that you want to do. From dinner with the girls to concerts to doing dishes without an effing dishwasher in this land of modern technology and convenience.
But you can't always eat cake.
You have to stop, reevaluate, adjust or wait. You have to piece together eating, sleeping, shitting and babysitter schedules. You swell and leak and are constantly getting famished and thirsty. You have to pump and dump more precious-than-gold milk than you ever thought you would because, better be safe! You think about and take care of bacteria and germs a lot, even if you're levelheaded.
You can't help but cringe as you leave work yet again to pseudo-feed your kid via vacuum in a place that'll never be private enough. You have to trim the tiniest nails against the softest skin on the jerkiest of limbs.
You have to face things like how your baby's hands smell like the inside of a belly button (not sure how I know this) and contain a few days worth of compressed lint doobies, which she proceeds to suck out and enjoy as a snack between meals.
You have to make blog posts shorter - using Grey's Anatomy monologue voiceover-style repetition - and even more far between. You have to rely on coffee and toothless smiles to get you through each trying moment. You wait for her to laugh.
But this is what everyone tells you..."You have to..." When really, you can do whatever you want as you side-step and feint. You're mom and dad.
You can have meaningful conversations over screams if the other person doesn't mind too much. You can pick how to carry your baby and style his hair. You can have Chu-His or not and will always find a way to enjoy your food. You can shower and have a clean house, or leave those tasks for another day if ever. You can feed them however you choose, get them to sleep however you like. You can make decisions on your own. You can laugh about anything. You can retire your blog from its readership of 35.
You can have caffeine to help with the tired eyes, and extra calories as you eeking-ly wait for teeth to come in. You can take them to daycare or not or change it up. You can enjoy wishing for the next monumental molehill milestone. You can just stare and stare and talk and giggle with your partner: "Butters, this is called 'doting.' We used to do it to you." You can refreshingly realize you were wrong about the following things:
Just have them get used to loud noises--When you spent a long time getting them to sleep, it's a big deal when the TV volume suddenly gets loud or the dog barks, or moves.
Just let them bear the shots; they won't remember a thing--Their pain is your pain now.
Just let them cry--It's an irritating sound.
Just drop them off--What if they get lonely or cold or annoy them? Am I doing the right thing?
Ultimately, you can do it. It's always NBD in hindsight.
 |
| Worth it. |
 |
| A great new view my mom pointed out. |
 |
| Glug glug. |
 |
| Woot. |
 |
| First day of school? |
 |
| Find the breastfeeding baby... |
 |
| Hakone's black ice cream. Not a very interesting picture but it's about to explode so... |
 |
| Look mom, no hands. |
 |
| Grandparents Skype |
 |
| Just kidding, we all know this is the new Princess Charlotte, Jules' future sister-in-law. via Mirror |
4 comments:
I love your blog, Ally. Just the other day I ran across a piece that I wrote when I was a young, slightly frustrated mom. But I didn't have a blog outlet...and I didn't write anywhere as well as you do. Even though it's a long, long time ago for me, I can relate to what you're writing....Keep it up!
Thank you Linda! I love knowing someone can relate and hopefully felt the better for it. :) I'm sure your own thoughts would be wonderful. Never too late. :D
Big hug!!
Love your blog Aly! I can completely relate right now!! Thank you :)
Oh Stephanie you're totally welcome! Thanks for reading and so glad you can relate! =) The whole point of everything, ha. Will be thinking of you and wishing you guys all the best.
Post a Comment