Sunday, 3 February 2013
A Letter to New-Mom Me
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and share what I know now with my new mom self....
Dear New-Mom Me,
Ok, someone has got to tell you to simmer down. Seriously relax you crazy psycho bitch. I figure since I know you so well I can be brutally honest and you can’t stay mad at me for that long. That or everyone is afraid of you and I picked the short straw.
Dude…you are out of freaking control.
Please stop stressing yourself out about when and how much they are eating. I promise, you are not going to starve them. Odds are pretty high they will let you know when they are hungry. Babies have this sound they make when they need something. They call it crying.
As far as the poop obsession thing goes, it’s a little humiliating. You are a post-secondary education women and your focus has been reduced to shit. Literally, shit. I promise you that the colours, size, schedule and consistency of their poop doesn’t really matter in the big scheme of things.
While we are at it, you are not a failure if their socks do not match. Newsflash: Baby socks don’t stay on anyway. Get a grip and save your money. It’s ok if their little outfits aren’t coordinating every time you go out. I promise no one will judge you. In fact, people probably won’t even notice.
Mind boggling isn’t it?
Take them out in their jammies…I double dog dare you. All of you will survive and you will feel ever so liberated with your time verses working up a sweat getting the selfish little things dressed that don’t even bother to try and stick there arm through a fricken’ sleeve to help you out.
Babies can be assholes can’t they? Just admit it….hello, I know your thoughts.
As far as your stroller hysteria goes, please stop buying them. You have THREE already and last time I checked all double-strollers still suck ass in any configuration and you just need to give into the fact that you will resemble a three ring circus when you go out in public.
In regards to crying at the doctors office when the little fatties had a harmless fungus under their fat rolls…it was embarrassing. Enough said. Please try to keep it together woman. And please do NOT call 911 when Peyton swallows water in her bath. Rookie mistake. You are not going to kill them. I promise.
Here’s a tip. I don’t know any 13 year olds that can’t sleep through the night or still needs a sucky to self-sooth. Let it go! Do what you need to do to make it through. Put down the damn books and do what feels right. Just make it through today. Trust me, in 13 years you will not be able to get them out of bed in the morning.
OK, here’s the important stuff. Believe it or not you are going to get even crazier during the next year. Shocking, I know. No one is more surprised at this than me. When they bump their heads or scrape their knees or fight over a stuffed animal…. well that my friend, is the easy part.
This is just going to get harder.
You have small humans right now, that means small problems.
In this moment you have the ability to fix anything with a fricken Dora Band-Aid and a kiss. Lucky bitch.
I wish I could go back to that. I don’t want to scare you, but right now sucks ass for us as a mom.
The girls are in the middle of elite basketball tryouts and they are not guaranteed a spot on a team. It’s stiff competition and we cannot swoop down and make it all better. Take a deep breath…we’ve come a long way. Yay us right? They may be facing a taste of rejection from the real world and you and I both know how hard we have tried to protect them from any pain. But the time is here that they need to live it to learn it. They need to feel what real life is and we cannot fix it. Trust me, it sucks balls.
Don’t worry we have wine.
I really want to tell you that you are doing a great job! Keep it up. I know that most days you don’t feel that way and you are full of doubt. Parenting is hard. I’m not going to sugar coat it, it’s gets much more complicated and I want you to have perspective.
Go get some more Dora Band-Aids and enjoy every minute, it really does go too fast.
Now, please go change out of those hideous overalls and throw away the Birkenstocks. They are not cool. Never have been. Never will be. You will thank me for it. Please don’t get that mom haircut you have been thinking about and good news, the mini-van isn’t forever. We have a sweet ass ride now.
Just a suggestion…go look at yourself in the mirror this instant and roll your eyes about 1000 times. That should help prepare you. Sorta. Just remember how sweet they are RIGHT now! Puberty is a bitch.
Oh, one last thing. Olivia will learn to roll over at three months. Heads up…don’t put her on the bed when you go and have a shower.