The "No Return" Policy of Parenthood

There are some days that you wish there was one. You could just dig out your receipt and trot your not so hot ass back to the hospital, plop them on the counter and say they're broken and smell funny...no exchange necessary, just a refund. There's a pair of shoes at Macy's you've had your eyes on.

For the last three days I've been trying to keep my mind intact. I thought that since I made it through teething (three times), and potty training (three times), the first day of school (again, three times) that I made it! I had done it! I kept the crazy to a minimum, my sanity intact, and still have most of my hair.

Not so fast.

It started out with the usual bickering back and forth, the tattling, the screaming...ugh. I want to break out in stress hives just thinking about it. It continued into the kicking each other, punching, crying, saying they hate each other. Again with the hives. I figure I'll distract them with work. I ask them if they'll help me rip some old wallpaper border down. They jump at the chance to be able to destroy something.

After thirty minutes of actually being good and helping me they both start in (out of the blue, mind you) about living with their dads. Okay, the youngest but the oldest had her sly eyes on. Do other parents not realize that any kid that has working ears and can speak a coherent sentence will repeat EVERY-THING that is said in their presence? I cannot be the only person on earth that knows this bit of information. Literally...everything.

She tells me that her dad told her (6 months ago) that he can tell me what to do and if she wants to live with him he can do whatever he wants and I can't stop him. Um...what? Do you want to live with him? She informed me she wants to live both places but she likes my house better...I'm there and I let her have snacks. That set me off...am I that horrible? Do I make you starve? Do I make you sleep on the floor and wear dirty clothes (I'm not perfect with laundry but I give it a hell of a try) or beat you? What is so horrible about living with me?

Then the bomb drops..their step moms are always home at night. Are you freaking kidding me??! My kids want to live somewhere else because I have a fucking job? Because I work midnights??!!

Let me break it down for you..the oldest's step mom got fired from their local grocery store. This is the latest in a very long line of firings for her. The youngest's step mom works part time at McDonalds because they can't afford day care...they have 7 kids in their household..in a 3 bedroom house. Maybe I'm being a little judgemental but come-the-fuck on. I work an (almost) 40 hour workweek..I work nights so I'm gone while they're sleeping and home when they need me. If they are sick at school, who gets them? Me. Who gives up their sleep time to go to school programs and functions and field trips and to nurse them when they're home sick? Me.

I hate feeling like I'm being punished for being responsible and making a choice that I thought would work best for them. I'm returning to school next term and that's going to take up more of my time..what's going to happen then? Are they really going to hate my guts when the pressure is on and I have to lock myself up for days at a time to study? I'm not going for cosmetology here.

There are some days that I really do wish I never had kids. Nobody can hurt you like they can. Nobody.

As soon as I think that I feel even more guilty because there is also nobody that loves you like they do. It is conditional, but those conditions are so easy to meet. Just love them and they love you back.

There will still be more days that you wish you could send them back. Teenage girls hitting puberty is enough to make me want to turn into an alcoholic..the fact that I get to do it again as soon as the first one moves out is making me second guess my decision to keep having them after one. Maybe I was already drunk when I made that decision.

Small doses of crazy.

Ever since I became a mom, I noticed that I'm a bit more crazy than normal.

Pre-baby I lived in this blissful world thinking about how it was going to be once my daughter arrived, like we all do. I don't know how many times I said that I wouldn't change a thing once my daughter was born. I was determined to live MY life, just with a kid in the mix now. I thought she would abide by MY schedule, not the other way around. I thought I would still have a social life, getting a sitter is no big deal...and so on.

Um, sure.

Needless to say, none of the above came true. There is a new queen of this castle and we bow to her, no doubt about it, as we should.

I have to say though, I am now mourning my old life. Yes, you read it right, I am saying that I'm missing certain aspects of my old life. I'm admitting it. It goes without saying that I wouldn't change having Lily for the world but I will admit that the adjustment has been difficult.

This is where the small doses of crazy come out of me.

Take teething for example. A year or two ago, if I saw a six month old baby, I would think what any childless woman would think, "Awwwww! They look like so much fun at this age!". Sure, they are, but I never gave a second thought to things like teething. So, days like today when Lily has spent a good portion of the day screaming, because of God's little prank on new mothers, I tend to go a little crazy. I start thinking, "What did I get myself into?", or, "I am not cut out for this shit, I do not have the patience" and every once in awhile, I'll even cry with Lily.

Other doses of crazy include, but not limited to:

• Snapping at my husband often, for making me become his mother too.
• Getting irrationally irritable when someone pisses me off at work. I don't have time for that shit anymore. I have a kid at home.
• Thinking, I would rather try to survive off of my husbands (very small) salary, than to spend another long day away from my baby, one day...to then thinking, the very next day, I cannot wait to spend 2 hours in the car driving to the furthest point in my territory so I can be alone in quiet.

I can go on but you understand what I'm saying, I'm sure.

I know what you're thinking, "Shit, this chick has postpartum issues!", and that might very well be...but I don't think it's anything more than adjusting to my new life.

I think new moms are afraid to admit things like this, in fear that they'll be judged if God forbid they have a selfish thought. I mean, come on, if you're a mom, you can't tell me that you haven't been excited to put your kid to bed for some peace and quiet, or that you didn't sometimes wish that you could take a night away with your husband without one ounce of guilt.

No, no one sat me down and told me motherhood would be easy but I honestly wasn't prepared for the changes that everyone warned me about. I guess that's the point is that you can't prepare. There are no words to explain what truly happens to your life when you become a mom. You can try to explain it but until you live it, you can't conceptualize the new life you're about to have.

All that said, I do not blame hormones for my doses of crazy. Maybe it's a small piece of it but more than anything, it's coming to grips with not being able to be selfish anymore and the new life I signed up for.

I can deal with my own crazy. I just hope I don't pass down the gene.

OMG- Now I've done it

Yesterday started as a typical day- Hubs got up to feed Munchky while I got ready, then I got her ready, took her to daycare, and then went to work. It was about 9:23 am (approximately, of course, I'm not THAT OCD, except I am), that I realized I had done it...

I had become a Mommy.

Now, let's define some things here. I have been a Mom for months now- and couldn't be happier with it. But becoming a "Mommy" is something totally different.

I'm not sure, I don't have any photo evidence, but I'm pretty sure that someone snuck into my closet one night, took out all of my stylish, cool clothes, and replaced them with "comfort is way more important" clothes. WTH? Where did those come from?

Oh, and some horrible force of nature has replaced my body with this... this... spare tire thing. I admit I was only happy with my size for a few years before getting pregnant- I lost a lot of weight at one point and loved it. Seriously- I was lovin life! But now I am incapable of even imagining those days of smaller sizes. I do dream about them, though.

About a month ago, the "delayed stress reaction hair loss" kicked in from having Cora, and I couldn't stand how much hair I saw in the drain each time I took a shower. So I cut it short. Now, I've done this all my life- grow my hair long, cut it short, then grow it out again. It grows quickly, so I never really worried about being stuck with something for too long. But I'll be damned- a friend saw me a couple days later, and said, "So you got the Mommy cut!" Bitch. No, I didn't get the Mommy cut. I'm not sure how it's different, but it is. So there.

This one I will admit to, though- I wear granny panties sometimes. There, I said it, shoot if you want. But it's true. They are so damned comfortable (Holy crap, there's that word again). But not even my husbands ribbing about them will make me get rid of them.

**through tears** "I just never thought this would happen to MEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Can We Talk About Sex?

I guess this isn't technically on topic, but it's something I've been thinking about lately.

Giving birth wasn't nearly as traumatic on my body as some. I had only minor internal tearing and some chaffing. I really didn't think that getting back to "normal" was going to take that long. Wrong.

I made my husband wait 8 weeks before I consented to intercourse. And I say it that way because that's really all it was. Not only was I deathly afraid of what it would feel like, but I also wasn't the least bit interested. A year later, not much has changed.

It's sad, really. There was a time when I loved sex, especially with my husband. I considered it an essential part of life and an important factor in deciding whether someone was worth spending the rest of my life with.

Will I ever love sex again?

Weekend woes

Holy hell- yesterday was hell. HELL I tell you!

Poor Munchky has a cold. Well, let me preface that... she has had a constant cold for the past month, and this weekend it was worse. I took her to the doc when she first got it, and here is what I got:

- You can't really do anything about it. Use nasal spray and suction stuff out.
- Use a humidifier in her room.
- Use Infant's Tylenol if she has a fever.

That's it. Nothing else. Oh yeah- here was the kicker that made me all gooey...

- She'll probably just sneeze her way from one cold to another for the winter, especially since she's in daycare.

Yeah, thanks. BLECH. Anyway- back to my story. This weekend Munchky was worse- she kept having sneezing fits where she would sneeze like 4 times in a row, snot flying everywhere. And like every other kid I've ever seen, she HATES having her nose wiped. HATES. With the passion of a thousand suns.

So the thing the pedi doesn't tell you is how completely hopeless you will feel, when she sneezes her little head off, cries when you wipe her nose, and then look up at you like, "make me better!" Ugh- what a heartstring tug! There was nothing I could do, and I hated it! And when she screamed her head off in that shrill, horrid way for like, an HOUR last night, all I could do was walk around with her and dance and sway, trying to comfort her. And then get up a bajilion times throughout the night to check on her after she finally went down.

Wow. Mommy stuff is hard.

Adventures in Breastfeeding

Let me preface this entry, by saying that I am in full support of however you decide to feed your kid.

You breastfeed....great.

You formula feed....great.

You do a little of both....great.

You start cow's milk at 6 months, but only 2% because you don't want your baby to get fat like my mother-in-law did....okay, then I'm going to give you the side eye and probably talk shit behind your back.

But beyond that, I fully support every mom in making the right choice for themselves and their baby. Having said all of that, I exclusively breastfeed Monkey. When I was pregnant, I was pretty meh about breastfeeding. I figured I would try it and if it worked great and if it didn't formula was fine. I was lucky enough to have cooperative boobs and a cooperative baby and breastfeeding works for us.

But it wasn't easy. Part of the problem was I believed The Lie. The Lie women tell each other about breastfeeding. The Lie lactation consultants, nurses, and doctors pass on to poor, naive mothers. The Lie you read about in books while you are pregnant and convince yourself it must be true.

Breastfeeding should not hurt. If it hurts, you are doing something wrong.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. And let me add for good measure....bullshit!

Breastfeeding hurts. It hurts like a mother fucker! Monkey had a great latch, I had a great supply, our holds were all correct....and it still hurt like hell. The first few weeks, my nipples were red and chapped and occasionally bleeding. Everytime Monkey latched on, I cringed and curled up my toes in pain. Every single time I fed Monkey, I would tell myself it was going to be the last time I would breastfeed. I would sit there, praying for him to be done, and think next time I'm going to make him a bottle.

But I never did. I just kept at it and eventually it got easier. And now I love it and love each special moment I get to spend with Monkey. But most of all, I love those 7 or 8 times a day where I am not expected to do anything but sit on the couch, feed Monkey, and catch up on my DVR'd shows!

9 months was the easy part

Being pregnant was no fun for me. I was sick every.single.day for the entire 9 months. I took anti-nausea medicationss every.single.day and they only worked some of the time. I kept thinking I only had to make it through those 9 months and then everything would be better. Well, I'm no longer nauseous all the time....but those 9 months were definitely the easy part!

I'm a 31 year old mom to a 3 month old little boy. I've been married for a little over a year to a man I adore on the good days and tolerate on the bad days. I'm a social worker, stuck in a job I have no passion for but that pays more than most social work jobs. I'm in graduate school and will get my master's degree in about a year.

I spent approximately 29 years of my life convinced I was not going to get married and I was not going to have kids. It just wasn't for me. I wasn't interested in those societal norms which said every woman wants to get married and have a family. I didn't really know what I wanted from my life, but I was sure marriage and kids wasn't it. When I was 26, I met Mr. Plummy and fell in love for the first time. At 29, I decided I wanted to have a baby NOW! Mr. Plummy decided we should be married before starting a family, so on a rainy day in August 2008 we walked down the aisle and said I Do.

I'm a planner. An organizer. A bit OCD, really. With my grad school schedule, I had identified a 6 week period which would be ideal to have a baby and only have to take one quarter off school. I counted backwards and then Mr. Plummy and I settled into the business of making a baby. I read books, charted my daily temperature, examined my cervical mucus and....on our 2nd month of trying....got knocked up. My due date was July 24th....right in the 6 week window.

July 24th came and went and our baby was nowhere to been seen. I endured 2 more weeks of pregnancy (including the hottest week on record) before I was finally induced. My induction started on Friday and my Monkey finally entered the world on Monday, August 10th. It was a long, long, long wait....but oh my, was it worth it. I didn't cry when Monkey was born, I laughed. Laughed and laughed at the notion that I was now someone's Mom. For the first few days, I would just look at him and laugh....I was a Mom.

The first 3 months have been challenging, rewarding, exhausting, aggrevating, full of joy and nothing like I ever expected my life to be. My maternity leave ended this week so now I'm balancing working full time, going to grad school, being Mr. Plummy's wife, being Monkey's mom, and trying to maintain some part of Me in the whole thing.