Being a mom has been surprising. I was surprised when I found out I was going to be a mom (think: full-blown panic attack right there in the bathroom), I was surprised he turned out to be a boy (I had a girl name ready to go and I was SO STOKED about dressing her in glittery pink tutus), and I am consistently surprised by how much I freaking love this kid. Like, I knew you loved your children… but whoa. I would happily jump off a bridge headfirst for him. I would eat a tarantula for him if I had to (although I’m not sure why this scenario would ever be real). I don’t mind holding him when he cries, and I have no problem changing his nasty diapers. It is more love than any human should ever have to cope with.
Anyway, in the spirit of entertainment and education, here are six things that have surprised me about being a mom (in no particular order):
- Bodily fluids are no big deal. There’s poop on my arm? Oh well… I’ll wipe it onto my shorts. It’s not THAT much, and that’s what washing machines are for, right? Spit up on my shoulder? Who cares… since I only have 6 shirts that really fit me right now anyway, no way am I changing for something so trivial. Uncle Caleb had a conniption when Judah threw up on his shoulder one night, and I was genuinely bewildered over it being such a traumatic event for him. It dries. Last week we had a urine fountain and a spit-up geyser happening at the same time during a diaper change. I found it more funny than horrifying. Also, I can for the first time in my life say that I have picked another person’s nose. It was necessary.
- So. Much. Laundry. For someone who hates folding laundry more than almost anything else in the world (I hate ironing more. Ironing = throwing my clothes back into the dryer), choosing cloth diapers seems like a bad idea about 50 times a day… every time I look over and realize that I have another load of diapers to fold or stuff. Also, I’m not changing my own clothes that are wet with spit-up, but you better believe Judah’s getting changed, poor little guy. And there is the burp cloth that probably got soaked, and sometimes the sheet in his crib if he was laying in there when it happened (or, this morning, my pillowcase). This less-than-10-pound person creates about 3 times more laundry than two adults, and just because his clothes are tiny doesn’t make it any less work.
- The sleep deprivation isn’t as bad as people make it seem. “You’re pregnant? Well, say goodbye to sleep for the REST OF YOUR LIFE” is what everyone says when you make the big announcement. People like to crush your excitement and hopes and dreams with tales of woe about exhaustion and poop (but since we’ve established that poop is no big deal, it’s really just the exhaustion that’s a problem). But really. Maybe he’s an exceptionally good sleeper, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised about how un-foggy I’ve actually felt. Of course, my husband says that’s because normal people “newborn brain” is actually equivalent to Lacey’s “normal brain,” and he has a point. The other day I asked him to “please hand me the microwave” (I meant my nursing cover), and he didn’t even blink.
- I’m a much more strict parent than I thought I’d be. I thought I’d be a super chill, kick-you-out-of-the-nest-and-become-your-own-person mom, but I’m officially not. Judah and I had to have a stern conversation at 4:00 the other morning about how he’s not allowed to date until he’s 65, he’s not allowed to play football ever, and he may not pursue a career as an astronaut.
- The kid’s sleep is entertaining. Seriously. My standards of entertainment have changed drastically. The faces he makes while he’s dreaming… bestillmyheart. I don’t know what he’s dreaming about, but it must very quickly range from funny to sad, from happy to horrifying… and he shows it all on his face. And his pacifier somehow ends up on the floor, under his crib, 5 nights out of 7. How does this happen? We don’t know. But, just for the record, it’s really hard to get a pacifier out from under the crib WHILE holding the crying baby. I strongly recommend putting the baby down first, especially if you have short arms.
- Baby clothes are weird. I organized them all so neatly by size (a large accomplishment), only to find that size means almost nothing. Judah now supposedly wears size 0-3 months… but some of those clothes are already too small, some are still huge, some of his newborn clothes still fit, and some of his 3-6 months clothes fit too. It’s such a disaster for my already unorganized-yet-OCD mind. I want to write letters to all baby clothing manufacturers and request that they please have a meeting and create standard sizing. Dressing my child should not be stressful like blue jean shopping (seriously, if I’m a size 8 just let me be a size 8 everywhere. I’m often a size 8 in one store, a size 6 in another and a 14 in another. It’s like a confidence roller coaster). For real. Being a mom is so weird. And so awesome. And so stressful and cool.