I’m over at HuffPost Parents today, telling the truth about bringing home baby. If your first few weeks with a newborn were a whirlwind of 3 minute showers, sweaty nursing tanks, and old yoga pants….come join our conversation!
I’ll admit it. At 30 weeks pregnant, I have a little chip on my shoulder. I’m achy, Braxton-Hicks-y, exhausted, and rocking a baby bump that looks like I should be checking in to Labor and Delivery sometime last week. Don’t get me wrong, smooshy scrunchy gorgeous babies with tiny noses and sweet baby dinosaur sounds are the best.thing.ever. I’m over-the-moon elated about bringing “baby brother” home in just 10 short weeks. But I’m also feeling obligated to share the whole truth and nothing but the truth with all of you first time expectant mamas out there. Because I love you like that. And I’m getting all anxious and twitchy about being thrown headfirst back into the nightmare dream state of parenting a newborn. Let’s face it, no one ever tells you that the first six months of motherhood ain’t that hot. Mothering a newborn is epic. Life-changing, poetic, falling-in-love, completely enamored, EPIC. But as wonderful as your sweet baby is, YOU my friend, are about to experience some EPIC changes of your own. It will ease the pain if you’re prepared. You’ll thank me later.
The “When I Have Kids, I’ll Never…” List (otherwise known as the Top 5 Reasons Why Baby Bliss is Bullsh*t list)
1. I’ll Never Lose My Cool. Oh no, I’m not even talking about that cool. Of course you will lose your everloving mind at 3:00 a.m. when your sweet tiny cherub won’t stop crying and you have tried everything that everyone ever preached at you to do. You’ve FaceBooked your failures and Tweeted out your misery. And still, the screaming. That one’s obvious. I mean your cooooool. Your trendy/hipster/stylish/I am HOT and I am AWESOME cool. Your subscriptions to Glamour and Lucky and InStyle will pile up on the kitchen counter, unread. You will wonder how you suddenly have so much time on your hands, and yet nothing gets done. You will replace reading fashion blogs with searching Etsy for the roomiest diaper bag that has enough pockets! a waterproof changing pad! and it even has a secret strap for holding binkies?! SOLD! Look at it this way, you will save tons of money by no longer being able to shop at trendy boutiques or buy your purses and shoes to match the seasons. You will have one season. “Baby Season.” And it lasts all year long.
2. I’ll Never Dress Like A Slob. Yoga pants are for yoga. PJ’s are for sleeping in. This one comes on fast and furious, ladies, so listen up. Your first week home with baby, you will live in the same.damn.clothes.every.day. You will wear the exact same pair of maternity yoga pants — the ones that are all stretched out and roomy and comfortable (disclaimer: I am wearing them right.this.minute… ahhhhhh), and you will refuse to change because anything else makes your vagina hurt (or your c-section scar, take your pick). You will also rock the same nursing tank top day after day. Because anything else makes your boobs feel like burning hot bricks. You will realize after a few days that what you smell is not just the dishes piling up in the sink, it’s you. Your baby will have puked on your shirt, and peed through his diaper onto your pants. You’ll have terrible night sweats as the hormones work their way out of your body, and holy sh*t did I spill my breakfast smoothie on my shirt or good god are my boobs actually LEAKING? You’ll make your way to the shower, and say to yourself…
3. As soon as I’m cleaned up and feeling better, I’ll Never Give Up My Hot Mama Wardrobe. You’ll put on some cute dangly earrings, because earrings always dress up yoga pants, right? The baby will yank on a beaded hoop and almost tear your earlobe in half. You’ll slide into your sexy summer platforms to go with your breezy skirt, and nearly break your ankle as you search for your car keys while balancing the heavy as f*ck baby carseat, your Etsy diaper bag, your own purse, and a piss-warm latte. You’ll start to cry as you kick your shoes off in the parking lot and hoist yourself up to put baby back in the car. You’ll think to yourself…
4. At least I’ll Never Lose My Nars Glow and My Signature Red Lips. Screw the outfits and the shoes, I can still wear some pretty makeup. After Max was born, I cried every day when it was time for Sean to leave for work. I was terrified of being left alone with this mini, volatile, unpredictable human being. How was I going to take a shower with a tiny baby who needed me all.the.time? What if he cried while I was washing my hair, or, god forbid, pooped before I had a chance to grab my towel? So I’d put him in the bouncy seat right next to the shower, and I’d make deals with the God of Motherhood. If you just let me shave my legs, I won’t do a body scrub. If you just let me condition my hair, I won’t even WASH my body. And then I’d sing really loud so that Max would give me ten more seconds before elevating his screams to dance club decibels. Makeup? A mama’s glow comes from rushing around the bathroom, frantically trying to find a ponytail holder while simultaneously shooshing her baby and wriggling into the last pair of clean panties that were conveniently still folded neatly on top of the washing machine. Flushed cheeks, and a swipe of chapstick. And a wet ponytail. Allure magazine (circa nine months ago) said that the slicked-back look was in, right? But at least you’ll have smooth legs, because…
5. I’ll Never Give Up My Sex Life. Now that you’re feeling hot again, or at least CLEAN, you will decide to put your shaved legs to good use. Six weeks after baby has arrived, your doctor will probably give you the green light to do the deed that got you into this yoga pants/no makeup/adorable baby who doesn’t stop crying mess to begin with. That is, if your vagina no longer hurts, or your c-section scar doesn’t feel like a barbed wire fence is grating against the only pair of sexy lace panties that still fit. You’ll shimmy into a black babydoll nightie and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Wait a second… my nursing boobs are HOT. I’m like a Victoria’s Secret Angel, but with a BETTER RACK, you’ll think. Your husband will make his way into the bedroom, you’ll start to… and right about the time that you smirk to yourself I’ve still got it, the baby will start to scream. And scream. And scream.
Would you believe me if I told you that “It gets better?” Yeah, better that you don’t. Just keep in mind that sometime after Junior’s two-year-old birthday party, you’ll see a picture of yourself that someone posted on Facebook. Your hair will be blown out nice and straight. Your cheeks will be blushed and bronzed, your waist swathed in a cute little wrap dress that you finally fit into. You’ll notice that your eyes are bright with pride, when the picture captures you gazing at your amazing husband and your gorgeous son. You’ll look back on the last two years and think about all of the firsts. First steps, first words, first time you and your husband went on a real date (to a real restaurant, with real food and real napkins). You will think to yourself, “Oh my god… my family. They’re mine. I am so unbelievably blessed.” And that night, you’ll wrap yourself around the man who was 50 percent responsible for turning your lives into such a beautiful mess, and whisper “Can we have another baby? I want to do it all over again…”
Don’t worry. The maternity yoga pants are still in the bottom drawer.