Raaaaaaar.
There are a couple of things worth mentioning that, despite the immense (pretty much immeasurable) joy of the little creation you now have, are kind of tough (although probably more amusing than tough, really) about being a new mom. Having now entered the second half of the fourth week of maternal bliss, I feel I am enough of a member of the proverbial club that I can complain a little bit. :)
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Top 5 Amusingly Tough Things About Being a New Mom
or, why motherhood is the only sure-fire cure for OCD
5. The definition of "clean" has officially changed.
Matt and I are convinced we both have mild-ish forms of obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleaning, cooking, etc. Parenthood has officially changed that. My mom said it would happen and I admit I laughed incredulously, but after having to do 3-4 loads of laundry in a day because of all the "accidents" (see point 4) it suddenly became much easier to adopt the "if it doesn't stink and you can't see the stain from a distance of two feet then it stays on" rule.
I consider it life's little way of making one keep perspective.
4. Bodily fluids. Nuff said.
They aren't kidding when they tell you that you'll be peed, pooped and vomited on. They just don't tell you it will all happen in the first two days or that it will continue to happen no matter how diligent you are about tight diapers, burp cloths and peepee teepees. Yes, somebody did go there.
3. Making the transition to Polyphasic Sleep is harsh.
Let me start by saying that I'm lucky. Roman generally sleeps more at night than during the day. I think God had mercy on me (or maybe Matt?) in this regard, because I'm one of those people who turns into Oscar the Grouch the moment I get less than 9 hours of sleep. That said, it has been a test of will for me to wake up at all hours of the day and night to meet the demands of the (irresistibly cute) screaming and usually hungry midget who has taken over the house. Plus, I hate naps.
In desperation, I've chosen to, like Kramer, see this as an opportunity to bring out the inner-Da Vinci. Let me tell you, being a 16th century genius is not easy.
2. Nothing prepares you for having the life, literally, sucked out of you. And in public.
With the help of a green and blue elephant-patterned baby blanket, and with the forceful impetus that a screaming infant in a public place can be, I have now officially breastfed my child
a. on a crowded (and sweltering hot) public bus through London's east end
b. twice at a crowded pub (once while eating dinner, once while getting creamed by Matt at Scrabble)
c. at the bank holiday freak-show festival in the local park
d. in a Starbucks in central London
The things we do for love.
1. Kinda sucks when you realize you've turned into the Fridge Raiders werewolf.
Eating and preparing food has become laughably difficult. On the rare occasion that Roman isn't awake and wanting my attention or hungry or cursing the Gods because he has to burp and I can actually cook, it usually involves something simple and fast. I don't think I've eaten a properly hot meal in one sitting for two weeks now. This is why it has become vital to keep snack-ish food around that I can eat quickly (and ravenously) when babybeast's schedule allows.
Enter fridge raiders - the refrigerated chicken-chunk snack created for those of us who prefer savory, hearty meals to granola bars and crackers for "a quick bite." The "roast" flavor rocks, incidentally.
Ok, so truth be told I almost never buy them, but what's not to love about little pre-chopped chunks of savory, meaty deliciousness advertised by a freakishly funny dancing werewolf to the tune of a mean clarinet solo?
Just had to share. :)
or, why motherhood is the only sure-fire cure for OCD
5. The definition of "clean" has officially changed.
Matt and I are convinced we both have mild-ish forms of obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleaning, cooking, etc. Parenthood has officially changed that. My mom said it would happen and I admit I laughed incredulously, but after having to do 3-4 loads of laundry in a day because of all the "accidents" (see point 4) it suddenly became much easier to adopt the "if it doesn't stink and you can't see the stain from a distance of two feet then it stays on" rule.
I consider it life's little way of making one keep perspective.
4. Bodily fluids. Nuff said.
They aren't kidding when they tell you that you'll be peed, pooped and vomited on. They just don't tell you it will all happen in the first two days or that it will continue to happen no matter how diligent you are about tight diapers, burp cloths and peepee teepees. Yes, somebody did go there.
3. Making the transition to Polyphasic Sleep is harsh.
Let me start by saying that I'm lucky. Roman generally sleeps more at night than during the day. I think God had mercy on me (or maybe Matt?) in this regard, because I'm one of those people who turns into Oscar the Grouch the moment I get less than 9 hours of sleep. That said, it has been a test of will for me to wake up at all hours of the day and night to meet the demands of the (irresistibly cute) screaming and usually hungry midget who has taken over the house. Plus, I hate naps.
In desperation, I've chosen to, like Kramer, see this as an opportunity to bring out the inner-Da Vinci. Let me tell you, being a 16th century genius is not easy.
2. Nothing prepares you for having the life, literally, sucked out of you. And in public.
With the help of a green and blue elephant-patterned baby blanket, and with the forceful impetus that a screaming infant in a public place can be, I have now officially breastfed my child
a. on a crowded (and sweltering hot) public bus through London's east end
b. twice at a crowded pub (once while eating dinner, once while getting creamed by Matt at Scrabble)
c. at the bank holiday freak-show festival in the local park
d. in a Starbucks in central London
The things we do for love.
1. Kinda sucks when you realize you've turned into the Fridge Raiders werewolf.
Eating and preparing food has become laughably difficult. On the rare occasion that Roman isn't awake and wanting my attention or hungry or cursing the Gods because he has to burp and I can actually cook, it usually involves something simple and fast. I don't think I've eaten a properly hot meal in one sitting for two weeks now. This is why it has become vital to keep snack-ish food around that I can eat quickly (and ravenously) when babybeast's schedule allows.
Enter fridge raiders - the refrigerated chicken-chunk snack created for those of us who prefer savory, hearty meals to granola bars and crackers for "a quick bite." The "roast" flavor rocks, incidentally.
Ok, so truth be told I almost never buy them, but what's not to love about little pre-chopped chunks of savory, meaty deliciousness advertised by a freakishly funny dancing werewolf to the tune of a mean clarinet solo?
Just had to share. :)
Love the clarinet ditty.
