Congratulations! You had a baby! You successfully grew a human for over nine months just by (basically) eating food. And it wasn’t necessarily even healthy food! Sure you ate a salad or two, but those first three months especially you ate a ton of chips, egg rolls, fried chicken and French fries. And even once you conquered the nausea and were finally able to stomach a real meal that you didn’t pick up from a drive-thru, you listened to your body and gave it what it wanted. And it may have wanted ice cream - not your fault!
Now that the baby is on the outside, you’re still eating. Because once again, you’re growing a human. This time though, it’s with your boobs. But at last you don’t have to worry! Because breastfeeding burns so many calories that the baby/burger weight from pregnancy will melt as fast as the cheese on top of it and counteract those current cupcake cravings just by feeding your kid. EXCEPT! Maybe. It. Won’t. In fact, You not only may NOT shed some of that baby weight, but as you plump up that baby, you TOO may in fact pack on a few el bees.
Yes. It’s true. Like pretty much all things in the life of a female, it’s not a guarantee that just because “they” say you’re body is going to do XYZ, that it’s foolproof. (And “they” are probably men anyway. *Eye roll*)
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“It’s a girl!” my partner exclaimed, as he gently pulled our first baby from my body.
A girl. I knew it was a girl. I mean I didn’t actually know, but I knew it was because sometimes you just know these things. After nine months of anticipation, ten days past my due date, 67 hours of labor and really my whole life of wondering what it would be like if I had a baby, she was finally here. Seven pounds, six ounces and 20 inches of a being that was half of me, half of him and 100% all her.
But as she lay on my chest, mouth agape and eyes wide, I looked at her and…well…I just looked at her. I’m sure I murmured something like “Hi baby!” or “Thank you for finally joining us!” but I don’t really remember. It wasn’t significant. It wasn’t the elation of a new mother finally meeting her daughter for the first time. It wasn’t baby talk or happy tears or a smothering of kisses all over her tiny, round, slightly birth-battered face. It was just a baby.
I remember being so bewildered when I first laid eyes on her and as I continued to stare at her throughout the next few days. Who was this person? For some reason, I had envisioned birthing this chip off the old block and then immediately knowing who it was. Like “Yes! There you are. Of course it was you. I knew you all along.” But something must’ve been amiss. I must have miscalculated the mom-to-baby insta-bond because this…THIS! This was a stranger. And I was pretty sure I didn’t love it.
Yes. My own child. That I conceived, carried and brought forth into the world. I didn’t love her.
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There is always a trigger event. That’s what it’s called. “The Trigger Event.” The thing that makes you fly completely off the handle. The trigger event could be a plethora of different things. It may be that you’re late for school drop off and your kid can’t find their shoes. It could be siblings fighting over who gets the “good spoon.” Perhaps it’s someone’s nonstop whining about how hungry they are while the baby is crying and you’re trying to just get the spaghetti made. Or maybe it’s just some dirty socks on the floor. Whatever the occurrence, whatever the size — you. are. pissed.
Moms. We are warm, nurturing, accepting and generous human beings. But we are also full of rage. I’m not talking about bad days. About bad weeks even. Or about phases of children’s development that we haven’t yet figured out how to manage. I’m talking about those of us who are pissed off on the regular. Of course, it’s not all of us; there are plenty of mothers with patient, rational brains running the show.
But right around every corner of calm, there is a red-faced mother on the verge of an explosion.
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“That looks stupid.”
I actually said those words to my seven-year-old daughter before I could stop them from flying out of my mouth. We had an event to attend with people we hadn’t seen in a long time and I really wanted everyone to look their best. But my daughter was insistent on wearing this tacky, hideous headband that she’d fished out of a prize box at the dentist. Or maybe she’d taken it home as a party favor or collected it from some other childhood event that supplies you with all the ugliest crap you never wanted.
So instead of acting like a self-actualized adult, I went in for the kill. Straight for her looks - the jugular of girlhood - and one area I swore I’d never touch. You know how you have those things that screwed you up as a kid that you promise on all of the holy things that you won’t repeat? This was (one) of mine. And I regurgitated it like I hadn’t had thirty plus years to digest it.
I mean I tried to be the good mom when she first appeared wearing the offending accessory. I utilized all the respectful parenting techniques when my patience was still intact. I gave her options of other sequin-free hair pieces. I offered to put her hair in a braid or bun or another style that rational people wear. I asked her if she could accessorize with the flair of her choice the following day and just do me this one favor. But instead she stomped around the house like an enraged elephant until we were late and my head was about to actually pop off. She was hurt that I was challenging her right to fashion independence and I was angry that I wasn’t in control. And so I said “it,” just as a child would. To my child. Then after I simultaneously stunned and gutted her, she yelled “FINE!” back at me and gave in. It was done. She looked cute and sane and I, of course, now had a classy child, not one of those sparkle and shine heathens.
My outburst was never spoken of again.
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There comes a point in many relationships where you look at your partner and think “Is this the one? Is this the snoring I want to lie next to in bed for the rest of my life?” Sometimes that snoring, or even breathing, can be a deal breaker. But sometimes – SOMETIMES, we decide that we’re willing to make peace with those annoying habits because the rest of that human is so good that it makes the breathing bearable. And after we check that first question off our list, we start making sure we have all the others answered – the ones the experts advise you to ask your partner before you take the plunge. Simple queries like “Do you want children?” to more complex subjects like “What are your views on faith and religion?” But these are the basics; for marriage in REAL life, you need to change them to holy shit questions.
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Have you ever noticed kids socializing at a playground? They just walk right up to each other and bluntly blurt out, “Hi! Do you want to play with me?” Sure, they may be drawn to certain children more than others – it’s not like anyone just fits the bill immediately, but overall, friends are easy. You meet, and voila! You’re friends! Wouldn’t it be incredible if it was the same way as adults? Or better yet – as moms? But instead, on the very same playground, those kids’ mothers are doing the very opposite. They’re keeping to themselves, scrolling their phones, pushing swings and bellowing the occasional “Be careful!” while they snack on Goldfish crackers. Because meeting mom friends is hard. There isn’t an app to swipe right and there’s no chance to send over a drink from across the room. But! If, by chance, you end up chatting with the messy-bunned beauty next to you while dumping sand out of shoes, know that if you want to keep (play)dating this chick, there are some unspoken rules to abide by in order to make it Mom Friend official.
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