Motherhood is a beautiful thing. For months you get to plan and prepare, to daydream about this tiny human you're growing all by yourself. A human that you, for now, know better than anyone. A human that you can't wait to meet in person, to see and hold, to hear his or her first words. The anticipation is delicious.
Fast forward a couple of years, please.
Now that perfect little human is two years old. She walks and talks and dances and plays. She is always on the move, has learned how to turn on the stereo when she wants music, how to scale the railings of her crib and escape, how to dig your lipstick out of your handbag and paint a crimson pout on herself that rivals Jack Nicholson's version of the Joker. Meanwhile, you are growing another human in your body. You are swollen. You are tired. You don't have time to anticipate, plan, and dream for this little human, because you are too busy trying to potty train the first one before the second makes his grand entrance. To keep this one fed. To listen to all the words that you longed to hear just a handful of months ago.
Y'all, I'm gonna be straight with you. First time Moms don't understand the truck that's gonna hit them.
For example, I hear "Mommy" six zillion times a day. I have told my daughter that I don't answer to Mommy anymore, that I only answer to Cantaloupe. My reasoning is that she's only two--she can't SAY Cantaloupe yet. From my perspective, this catapults me to Genius Status.
Don't get me wrong--I adore Bellamy. She's the most amazing little person I've ever known, and I have a hard time believing that she's half me. But this parent stuff is hard. It took me like two weeks to get used to the fact that she even existed. (I vomited the first time I ever saw her, but I attribute that to the fact that she was two months premature and in the NICU with lots of wires and stuff hooked up to her, and I had just had a c-section and was still kinda doped up.) Now I can't imagine life without her. I can barely remember life before her.
Sometimes I miss things from life before Bellamy. I miss being able to go to movies, bars, restaurants without having to plan ahead. I miss spending time alone with my husband. I miss driving a car without Cheerios tucking into all of the crevices. I miss taking a shower without someone ripping the curtain open and asking, "Whatcha doin, Mommy?" (My reply is always, "Roller skating." Curiously enough, her response to that is always to say, "Okay, be safe," before she toddles happily away. Shouldn't she have questions? I mean, I do.)
In the past two years, I've forgotten how to mix a decent margarita, but I've learned a lot about Baby Einstein and Blue's Clues. I worked my way back into my skinny jeans (before I got pregnant for the second time) but they now have permanent baby food stains on them. I can't remember what it's like to have painted fingernails of my own, but I do a fine job of painting my daughter's tiny nails when she plays dress up. Life has changed. It's for the better, I think.
I'm going to be Cantaloupe for a long time. But I'm okay with that.
Don't get me wrong--I adore Bellamy. She's the most amazing little person I've ever known, and I have a hard time believing that she's half me. But this parent stuff is hard. It took me like two weeks to get used to the fact that she even existed. (I vomited the first time I ever saw her, but I attribute that to the fact that she was two months premature and in the NICU with lots of wires and stuff hooked up to her, and I had just had a c-section and was still kinda doped up.) Now I can't imagine life without her. I can barely remember life before her.
Sometimes I miss things from life before Bellamy. I miss being able to go to movies, bars, restaurants without having to plan ahead. I miss spending time alone with my husband. I miss driving a car without Cheerios tucking into all of the crevices. I miss taking a shower without someone ripping the curtain open and asking, "Whatcha doin, Mommy?" (My reply is always, "Roller skating." Curiously enough, her response to that is always to say, "Okay, be safe," before she toddles happily away. Shouldn't she have questions? I mean, I do.)
In the past two years, I've forgotten how to mix a decent margarita, but I've learned a lot about Baby Einstein and Blue's Clues. I worked my way back into my skinny jeans (before I got pregnant for the second time) but they now have permanent baby food stains on them. I can't remember what it's like to have painted fingernails of my own, but I do a fine job of painting my daughter's tiny nails when she plays dress up. Life has changed. It's for the better, I think.
