Parents are the Worst

7 reasons why I’m sorry, that we're not sorry.

1). From the moment they are born, our first topic of conversation at every gathering will be "our children". Even at dinner parties, for which we sacrificed our sanity and routine to attend, "pooping in the potty" stories are never off limits, even if the host is serving stew.

2). Parents are the worst kind of consumers and the most vocal. Nothing is safe enough, recall proof, or could ever have enough bells and whistles for our precious angels. A swing can no longer simply move back and forth, it needs to have a remote control which we can monitor from our smart phones, and look like it came from outer space. Our baby registries are ten times more extravagant than our wedding registries. Warning: we have access to message boards and we're not afraid to use them.

3). We can only use the words months or weeks to describe our children’s biological or gestational age (a phrase all of the non-parents are quickly checking out on Wikipedia). Rather than saying my kids will be a year and a half apart in age I tell people 19 months. To me, it sounds slightly less terrifying. To you, you’ll wish you paid better attention in junior high math.

4). We will absolutely try and recruit you. Parenthood is a cult and you should most definitely drink the Kool Aide.

5). We believe that everything about our children is fascinating and must therefore interest you as well. I will tell you every animal sound my daughter can say and the ones she struggles with, because you made the mistake of asking me how my day was going.

6). Did you want to see a picture of my child eating ice cream, at the beach, or petting our dog? Great, check it out my Instagram or Facebook page. It is has become a shrine to my family.      

7). You are no longer allowed to use phrases like I’m exhausted or I got NO sleep last night. We now own the rights to suffering and any non-parents using these expressions will be shot on site with our dagger eyes which are also trademarked, so don’t even try. 

The Final Countdown

Are you so ready to have the baby?

People would ask me this all the time when I was pregnant with Charlotte and I’d get giddy and squealy and say, “Yes, so ready.” I wish I could go back in time and lovingly slap myself in the face. No, there is no way to be ready and there is no way to be prepared for having a baby. My life was suddenly filled with so much stuff, all centered around a little person weighing less than 8 pounds. Stuff comprising of tons of necessary and unnecessary baby gear, not to mention the emotional stuff like tears, frustration, joy and a ridiculous amount of love.

Fast forward to what feels like a mere week later and the third trimester of my second pregnancy. Now when people ask me, I tell them the ugly truth. No, I’m absolutely not ready because I know what’s coming. I am physically exhausted from wrangling a toddler while carrying a bowling ball around in my stomach, that kicks me with the force of a hundred gerbils in 100 degree heat. But this tired is a spa weekend in wine country compared to what's ahead.

Do I long to hold my baby girl in my arms? Absolutely, more than anything. But I’d love to venture back to the land of ignorance just for this final countdown. This pregnancy is completely different because my first little ball of joy doesn’t allow me any time to think. But suddenly my brain has flipped a switch and I can’t ignore what feels like a ticking time bomb just waiting to shower me with two times the STUFF, which coincidentally feels like two times more than I am equipped to handle.

What do you mean I will no longer be the center of the universe?

On the plus side my heart is about to double in size. The one thing I consistently hear about having two under two is that nothing beats the feeling of watching your children fall in love with each other. So while I’m not ready for labor, sleep deprivation, or nursing, I can hardly wait for all the good stuff. 

Myths from the Delivery Room

Birth is nothing like they show in the movies or on TV. Yes, there is sweating, but other than that what they show looks more like a confusing gynecology appointment where they hand you a 6 month old baby lightly dipped in jelly only to whisk them away so you have a few moments to make-out with your husband (no tongue though, let's keep it classy). 

First of all there is no sheet covering your lady parts. By this time the orderly who delivered your meals has not only seen you on the toilet, but has probably caught a pretty good peep show of your butt. Remember those “breathable” robes they have you wear during your monthly trips to the gyno? That’s your attire for the next several days. They only open in the back and going commando is a requirement. I remember being confused because I had packed special granny panties just for the occasion, but apparently they were blocking the only exit route and it was most definitely an emergency, not a drill. This is your orientation into nudity 24/7, so if you were modest before you are quickly cured and now adequately prepared for the boobie festival in your future, if you choose to breastfeed.

You do not swear at your partner (but your language is not child friendly). There is no directed blame, just a general panic because this cannot possibly be right. No human is meant to survive this level of pain. Enter the anesthesiologist, aka your new BFF, and from that moment on you are no longer in a scene of Alien Vs. Predator. Hollywood, evidently, has outlawed epidurals however because giant needles are not quite as sexy as what is pictured below. 

No one cares if you poop (and my apologies but you will probably throw up). This and any mention of the placenta has to be shielded from the silver screen because birth should only be beautiful. Whenever I see this as a list of fears from expecting mothers I always laugh out loud. Your world is about to be so incredibly rocked by the shocking amount of bodily functions, some are yours but most come from your child, that a little bit of poop never killed anyone. In fact, if it gets the baby out faster somehow you will wish you had Indian Food as your last supper.

Now that you have read this and scheduled your elective C-Section, I will tell you the good news. Birthing my daughter is the most powerful, incredible thing that I’ve ever done. Post-delivery, you are a superhero because you’ve created life and it’s here in your arms. That feeling stays with you forever and your decision to have more children has nothing to do with what did or did not occur in the delivery room.  So first-time moms, please turn off Knocked Up, any birthing episode from Friends and the YouTube clip of “Woman Gives Birth to a 10 Pound Baby in the Car”, you are about to write your own delivery room drama and it’s got your baby’s name written all over it.