I went to the library to check out Chelsea Handler’s Uganda Be Kidding me and have to admit I found much humor in the fact that it was situated in the travel section among books suggesting hotels in Iraq.
I recently flew with baby H for the first time and solo. Yep - my brain isn’t entirely present sometimes. It was fun and showed me how helpful and nice strangers can be to new moms! Security went fine, waking up super early, great, and all the other nuances of traveling.
The most exciting part of the trip had to be take-off/landing. Baby H wanted to make it memorable by having an excessive blowout on our flight home. I’m not talking a little leak here and there. No. I’m talking full on, everything that’s possibly in her body and then some, coming out during the fifteen minutes of take off - you know - the time where you are not free to move about the cabin. It was so bad that not only did it seep through the baby carrier and her clothes. No - it starting pouring through and onto my hand, my pants, the seatbelt and even the floor.
It was in this moment I realized a couple of things. First, I’m going to have to get use to flying in the middle seat since babies get the window. Second, always wear dark colors in case of blowout situations. Third, I decided not to inform the crew that there may be a little poopidue (think residue but with poop) on the seatbelt and floor because I feared they would ban us from economy plus…and I really like economy plus.
We went to a wedding for the first time post-baby and here’s my comparison of weddings pre-baby and post.
Then: More wine - of course! Delicious…
Now: I should drink water between my two glasses of wine since I’m already feeling tipsy off one glass and don’t want to get wasted.
Then: Dance as long as the music plays - shoes off from dancing so much.
Now: Shoes off because they aren’t as comfy as the flip flops I’ve been living in for the past four months. I can only dance to one song because I have a plugged duct in my right boob and it hurts to move too fast.
Then: I love weddings and can’t wait to eat the food, meet other people, have fun and relax.
Now: Ok, I have to go to the car and pump which gets me back to the reception in time for dinner I hope and then wash the parts so I can go back again in a few hours and hopefully no one notices that I’m gone for half an hour every few hours.
Then: Go to the bathroom at the reception to re-apply lipstick or eyeliner.
Now: Go to bathroom to wash breast pump parts and have nearly every woman giving me odd looks as they approach the sink that is right beside me.
Then: We close down the wedding and stay until the very last song is played.
Now: Welp, looks to be 9:30 so that proves we are cool enough to stay out past 9 but really need to go pick up our baby girl from our friends’ house and go to sleep. Weddings are exhausting.
I’ve got to admit becoming a mom has been a role change that I wasn’t prepared for in the slightest. It’s not like those 9 months of pregnancy can really prep you for the change - it just happens. One day you’re you and the next day you are you and a mom.
In the beginning I was fighting it and pretending to be the “cool mom” - one who was ok leaving her baby at home as if I didn’t need to be with her all the time. One who could maintain her identity and balance caring for another tiny human. I was trying to be one or the other and was the only one pressuring myself to do so.
After about three months of this, it got old. Now I’m learning I don’t have to learn how to remain “me” and be a mom. I can be both. An enhanced version of myself. To be honest - I was even thinking about this blog and worried it would turn into just a mom blog and even if it does - that’s ok too. It’s life and being a mom is teaching me you just have to accept it, embrace it and then prepare for it all to change the next day.
The reason doesn’t matter - what matters is Picks and I are driving along and I see a bunny about to run into the road so I yell at Picks to stop so he doesn’t kill the bunny. He looks at me like I’m not right in the head and says he’d rather kill the bunny than us get into an accident. I tell him I’d rather an accident - insurance can fix our car, not bring a bunny back from the dead. I may be a softie but couldn’t imagine the guilt of killing such a cute little thing…even if they reproduce every 15 seconds.
Baby H finds happiness out of ceiling fans, her feet, other people smiling at her. Apparently she also finds joy in having her butt blown dry by the hair dryer during diaper changes (doctor recommended it - it’s not something we thought would be a fun trick to try). She can be screaming with tears pouring out but the instant I turn on the hair dryer to dry her butt, she has a look of pure zen.
If I’m ever having a bad day -just give me a hair dryer and we’ll see if it lives up to the hype.
Never thought I’d have a call that starts off by me saying I need to talk to the doctor about my daughter’s anus. I guess this is called being a parent.
Ever have a nine year old girl in line behind you at the store look at your purchases and scream out to you “that’s a lot of candy!”
I have. Yesterday. In my defense - it was 3 for $3 - can’t pass up a bargain like that dammit!!!!!
I’ve learned a few techniques on how to “survive” pushing a tiny human out the vagina and one thing that really resonated with me was to allow the pain to happen.
I’ve been encouraged to embrace the pain and breathe through it rather than fight it. Fighting only makes the pain more difficult to tolerate and can be more exhausting than just allowing it to happen.
Call me philosophical if you will or emotional as I do have a plethora of hormones overtaking my body - but I like relating labor to the way I would want to handle life. Rather than throwing all my energy into something I can’t control, I just need to ride with it and see where it takes me. And since I can’t get an epidural for the pains in life, there’s always napping and Zoloft. I’d say that’s almost as good, right?
Do not eat fibrous cereal the same day that you have yoga. It makes for many uncomfortable moments.
Saying I’m going to give birth potentially in a month in a half is one thing but hearing your doctor confirm that the baby is head down and getting ready is another. This shit just got real…