For Those About to Rock (A Baby) I Salute You

I have a couple of girlfriends who either just had or or are about to have their first babies.  Having just had my third, I feel compelled to add my voice to crazy chorus of voices giving the same advice to these new mommies.  Is there a phrase that a new mom hears more often than, "Enjoy this time! They grow up so fast!"  I still hear this phrase almost every day.  Passersby at Target want to regale me with their stories of how many kids they have, what they each were like and how they are all grown up now, as I try to politely nod that I "get it" whilst wrangling my toddler who wants to stand in the cart and threatening that there will be no chocolate milk at the end of this trip if the behavior is not good (but knowing that there indeed, WILL be chocolate milk, because Mommy needs a latte - Curse AND bless you, Starbucks in Target).  The thing is though, I totally get where everyone is coming from.  And I can already see, even though my kids are all still "babies," that things change so quickly.

After my first baby, C, was born, I was in shock.  There's no better way to describe it.  Sleep deprivation is a scary thing and I quickly learned why it is used as a form of torture.  Couple that with the sheer magnitude of the responsibility of being wholly in charge of another human life, a body that is healing from the trauma of childbirth and nursing, and an unfair expectation of myself to be a "natural" at this and you have a recipe for a Deer-In-The-Headlights Mommy.  I think it took a full three months for me to return to ANY semblance of normalcy.  I distinctly remember my brother coming over after many weeks and saying of Ivan and myself, "You guys are starting to look like you're doing better."  We didn't realize that everyone else could see how badly shaken we were, but clearly they could.

Those first few months are etched so clearly in my memory.  Each hour of each day was filled with new experiences and sensations... figuring out how to hook myself up to the breast pump (lovely) and using any means necessary to relieve my so sore boobs, setting up the Bobby pillow "just so" to nurse each time, those giant disposable underwear from the hospital, the song the Kick n' Play sputtered out each time C pressed her tiny feet against it.  Every detail seemed epic.

Now, this might be a function of having babies so close together, and a mom who waited 5 years between each might not have the same experience as me, but with each of my babies the intensity of EVERYTHING wore off.  Number 3, J, was born 3 months ago and do you know where the Boppy is?  On the top shelf of the closet where it's been since we moved.  I never touched it.  I have an entire shelf in my linen closet devoted to the pains of breast feeding- lanolin, breast pads, shields, gel pads... I didn't have to use any of it this time.  Not that I'm complaining... but I'm kind of complaining.

In the hospital they give you these plastic squirt bottles for the glamorous task of hosing your stitches down after you pee for the first few weeks.  I didn't even need them for numbers 2 and 3 but brought them home anyway (when you see a bill for $35,000 for the hospital you take everything that's not nailed to the floor) and the girls use them as bath toys now.  The tiniest part of me sees these squirt bottles and actually feels melancholy!

I have, like, 7 great pairs of nursing pajamas, a collection that has grown with each baby.  Well J started sleeping through the night several weeks ago (yay!) and being that we don't plan on having any more babies, it dawned on me... I never have to wear nursing pajamas.  Ever. Again.  I might be welling up a little bit while I type this.

If you would have told me when C was a week old that I'd be just the tiniest bit sad that breast feeding was such a non-issue, that the recovery was so much easier, that I pretty much blinked and we were sleeping through the night by the time the third rolled around, I would have slapped my future self.  In the trenches of those first few weeks, it felt like fight or flight to return to my former self.  I just wanted to sleep, I wanted my body to feel better and be thin again, and I wanted to not feel like I was going to have a nervous breakdown three times a day. But in retrospect, I remember those days so fondly.

Why would anyone ever miss a period of time that can be downright horrifying?  Because these are the experiences that initiate you into motherhood.  These moments, these sensations are inextricably linked to the most earth-shattering change to your life: Becoming a Mommy.  Much like a nostalgic frat boy who reminisces on his hazing days fondly, those first few weeks became burned in my soul as the most defining time in my life to date.  And also like college, you can try going back for as many advanced degrees as your pocketbook will allow, but you can never recapture that magical undergrad experience.  You have it for a time, and then it is gone.  You will never feel the little things as acutely as you do with your first.  And it all ends, the bad and the good.  They say that the only constant in life is change and nowhere is that better exemplified than with babies.

Something I think about constantly is that I never know when something will happen for the last time.  All three of my beautiful babies did the cutest stretch ever when you'd pick them up from sleeping.  They would arch their backs, stick their tiny tushies out, bring their little fists up by their ears with elbows out wide and scrunch up their teeny faces.  Whenever each of them would do it we'd say, "Oh! Biiiiigggg Stretch!"  It was just the sweetest.  And then, all of a sudden, they didn't do it anymore and we didn't even realize it until a few weeks had gone by.  Certainly with C it came as a huge shock- like, "Wait- she's not going to do that forever?"  I swear, I had to mourn the loss of that stretch!  Jack is still doing it, but I can tell that any day now will be the last time.  And that's it- I won't have anymore babies doing the Big Stretch.

It breaks my heart that this will keep happening over and over again in life.  There is going to be a last time that I pick up my kids and place them in bed. I know that that is not for a long time, but I know that my mom doesn't pick me up anymore so I know that eventually I won't pick my kids up either.  There will also come a time when they don't ask a zillion questions in the car or try to keep me in their rooms as long as they can get away with at bedtime, asking for water and one more book.  So I try, hard as it is, to not wish the tough moments away.

Of course, growing up yields amazing things in the future.  I constantly have to remind myself that even though we aren't planning on having any more babies, we'll be able to have so much fun with them as they grow.  As they get older, traveling won't seem so daunting and we'll be able to do so much more when we don't have to worry about naps and me having to pump every four hours during the day.  In the wise, wise words of Semisonic, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

So I truly do understand when people approach me out in public and tell me to enjoy every minute.  And I really, really do try to appreciate this crazy magical time and I echo to my ladies who are just entering into this phase of life, "Soak it up!  Enjoy every minute" knowing full-well that every minute won't be filled with joy, but that the minutes are fleeting but this time is divine.
 

Dear 22 Year-Old Self, I Love You, You're Adorable, and I'm Not Trying to Impress You Anymore

Oh, hey there!  It's only been, what? More than two years?  In that time... nothing much... I had another baby, I am hopefully days away from delivering my third, I've delved into the awesome world of Mommy and Me classes, met some phenomenal new mommy friends,  discovered Downton Abbey, Mad Men, and House of Cards and binge-watched all of them, my friends Cecelia, Ladybird, and B all had babies, Ivan and I sold our home and moved into a new one two days before Christmas and, of course, neurotically made every possible home improvement change within a span of three weeks, and as of yesterday... became the proud owner of a...

MINIVAN!!!

I know you think that I'm trying to be funny and sarcastic, but I assure you, I am not!  I am OVER-JOYED to be joining the soccer-mom crowd and today, when I pulled into the Target parking lot and claimed my rightful place among the other Siennas, Odysseys, and Sedonas I had one thought:
I've Arrived.

Of course, my 22-year old self is screaming, "No! No!  We swore we would never drive one of those!" and to that I say, "You ignorant, ignorant ditz.  You have no idea what you're talking about.  Let me enlighten you about wrangling a 3 year old and a 20 month old into a car, in the rain, with a giant pregnant belly, in a busy parking lot.  A vehicle that is low enough to the ground that the kids can scramble in by themselves, with doors that open and close automatically is a chariot sent from God Himself."

Why, yes, that IS an array of spring flowers, my groceries for the week, overnight bags for Nana's house and two children with room to spare, thanks for asking!  :)

In fact, I am finding that I am falling into a lot of the "Mom Habits" in which I vowed to not participate when I was a younger adult.  Being 22 was a fun and funny time for me.  I had just graduated college and started my career.  I was living at home and had a little disposable income, planning a trip to Hawaii with Ladybird because, hey, we could!  I went to the gym twice a day because INSANITY and was basically enjoying a lot of the freedom that making money provides without the any of the responsibilities of a mortgage, marriage, or kids.  It was when I was 22 that I bought myself my "at the time" dream car- a 2003 Volkswagen Jetta.  It was a big change from those cash-strapped college years (and hand-me-down family station wagon that didn't need a key in the ignition to start).

College is a really unique time of your life for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that you are surrounded entirely by people (kids) your own age.  For four years you don't see children or older people (save for your professors, and let's face it, those who choose to exist in the realm of academia aren't really the poster children for real world expertise- My voice professor once asked me who Journey was.  Journey.)  So, when you emerge as a young professional, once again surrounded by a standard variety of ages, you start to look around and see "moms" who don't look like your mom, but look like you- or at least someone who could be you sometime soon.  And with that realization comes some scary thoughts of having to give up your sequined tank tops (or in my case, my shirt that was made out of a bandanna, I kid you not) and free-wheeling lifestyle and become, well, bland.  As a self-righteous 22 year old I would see moms while out and about and in a desperate attempt to cling to the new found lifestyle I had, I would create obnoxious "When I'm a mom, I'm never going to..." statements.

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to drive a mini-van."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to to wear leggings as pants."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to go out without make-up on."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never going to be in a store with my kids screaming."

"When I'm a mom, I'm never wearing sneakers with jeans."

I actually had the AUDACITY to PITY these young moms that I'd see and I'd get annoyed when my blissful, solitary trip to Target was interrupted by a toddler's whining.  What I'm now realizing, is that more than this being disgustingly judgmental, it's also ridiculously presumptuous.  Presumptuous in that these women- these hard-working, self-sacrificing women could give a crap about what some snot-nosed, know-it-all, brain-is-barely-developed punk thought about them.  Now, having joined their ranks, I can tell you how much I just don't care what other people (least of all, a 22-year old childless tart) think about me.

At the risk of sounding incredibly trite, I love my life.  I love shuttling my little girls to Gymboree and story time at Barnes and Noble.  I actually get a thrill from setting up a finger-painting project for them.  Some days I look pretty darn good- pulled together in that hip, cool-mom vibe.  Other days, like when one of the kids is sick or I'm not feeling well, or I hit the 7 month mark of pregnancy, or hey, we just couldn't get it together today, I go out looking a wreck.  It's not my favorite, but at the end of day, is my vanity worth missing an experience with my children?  And sometimes, my comfort has to come before my vanity too.  Like when I would take my girls for a walk in the double jogger shortly after my second was born, I would sport the dreaded jean and sneaker combination, because you know what?  I didn't want my feet or back to hurt.  Gasp!  I get a sense of pride that used to be reserved for looking really good in my jeans after working out and starving myself for six weeks from getting dinner on the table for my family each night in a semi-timely manner.  I make a bangin' turkey meatloaf.  I don't know if people say "bangin'" anymore and I couldn't care less.

All this being said, I have no ill-feelings toward my 22-year old self, or any other young adult that might see me in Target and pity me.  It's nice to have a point in your life when you are so delusional that you think you have it all figured out.  There is a season for everything and I'll always be grateful that I had a stage in my life when my biggest challenge was making sure that I only drank cocktails that were red, white, or blue while down the shore for 4th of July weekend.  And I think having had that season helps me be even more grateful for my current season.  I wasn't ready for the life I have now when I was 22.  And if I were still doing my 22 year old thing now, well, let's just say 34 year-olds shouldn't be running around in tops made from bandannas. So, 22 year old B, I do love you.  Go on with your bad self dancing at Bar A to "Yeah" every weekend.  Just know that there is another stage of life waiting for you where you don't have to worry so much about what others think of you and those things that make you cringe now will make you smile in just a few years.  Nothing will make you appreciate a minivan more than wrestling a car seat in and out of the backseat of a Jetta.