Wednesday, October 03, 2007

An open letter to people who advised me to have children

Dear People,

I knew this wouldn't be all peaches, unicorns, and rainbows. I expected sleepless nights. I expected my home to become infested by myriad weird, child-clinging bacteria. I expected urine all over my favorite furniture. I expected spit-up on my J. Crew suit. I even expected to outgrow said J. Crew suit (though not quite to this extent, but, hey, whatever). Even the twice-daily Mixing of the Vats of Formula, the Wriggling on the Changing Table, the Struggling to Get Sheets on the Mini-Crib Mattress, the Great Post-Bath Oatmeal Bowl Upset, the constant Lugging of Huge, Heavy Piles of Shit Everywhere We Go, the Delirium Resulting from Exposure to Too Much Electronic-Toy Bach, the Brilliance of the Infant Pain Relieving Medication Containing Red Dye, and the Screaming When I Will Not Provide the Baby With His Own Cup of Steaming Hot Tea are not entirely outside the realm of the unprecedented.

But nobody, and I mean NOBODY, warned me about The Endless, Endless Kicking of the Breasts and Genitals.

And this is information that would have proved useful. As in, condom-coupled-with-spermicide-and-the-sponge-and-the-Pill useful.

Biting of the breasts was one thing; that went with the breastfeeding territory. I signed on for that. But I never imagined, in a million years, that I would be signing on for bright mornings of picking up my sweet, smiling infant son from his crib, lovingly enduring his misguided affection as he gouges me in the eye, gurgles, and blows raspberries in my face, and then kissing the top of his sweet, baby-scented head and carrying him over to the changing table, singing all the while, prior to him serving five rapid-succession swift, efficient kicks to my C-section scar.

Then, of course, I finish changing his watery, poopy diaper (while he wriggles to and fro, trying to shove the Desitin and the dirty diaper in his mouth simultaneously), deposit him into his bouncy seat, and pick up his brother, patting myself on the back for the fact that his brother has only been crying for three minutes while I changed the other baby. The second baby, upset at not being in someone's arms, is equally upset at being in someone's arms, and promptly flings his fist against my breasts, head-butts my chin, and kicks me in the C-section scar, all within a four-second time span.

I might also add that this is when the phone starts to ring--both landline and cell--and the doorbell buzzer buzzes, typically for the delivery of someone else's package, except the carrier is too lazy actually to read the name on the bell and match it to the package.

Need I add that I'm unshowered and unbreakfasted? And that one phone call was about an extremely significant issue and one phone call was about an insignificant issue, and I'm not sure which one pissed me off more?



Blogger looney said...

My best friend's nose was broken by her daughter hitting her with a bottle while she was changing her diaper. The daughter was 9 months old.
Hang in there!

11:45 AM  
Blogger Mamalujo said...

Wait until they get into Barney or Teletubbies or some other mind-numbingly bad children's shows. And they'll insist on watching them over and over. You will be able to actually feel the brain cells withering away.

1:06 PM  
Blogger mamatulip said...

Oliver is a head-butter. He's given me bloody noses and fat lips. I feel for you, man.

1:13 PM  
Blogger DebbieDoesLife said...

Sounds like you are doing fabulous! I remember my son nicked my gum with his baby finger nail and I ended up with an infection that was disgusting.

6:38 AM  
Blogger Mignon said...

I got donkey-kicked in the mouth last night and split my top lip wide wide open. Then I dreamed both my two front teeth fell out, and I couldn't eat the bread pastries at a beautiful French bistro in downtown San Francisco (in my dream).

My condom with double spermicide fantasies are reserved for fake-whining-about-nothing-while-on-excruciatingly-long-car-rides. That makes me long for the time of The Great Before.

There must be a place near you that delivers bagels. Mustn't there? Is that too sit-com-y of an impression of where you are?

2:39 PM  
Blogger V-Grrrl said...

The Time of the Great Before.

Oh yeah, I remember that....even after 12 years in the AFTER.


11:29 AM  
Blogger Pattie said...

Hey there...
Here by way of Mama Tulip's place.

I don't mean to be laughing, but this story was pretty funny! Oh, and I can relate totally. I can assure you when they get bigger, the assault on your lady parts will cease ;-)

PS I love the blog title. As an Italian, native Northeasterner, and food lover, it warmed the cockles of my heart....


4:09 PM  
Anonymous TB said...

I can't imagine how difficult it must be to wrestle two baby boys. Myles wears me out with the kicking and fish hooking my nose and lips and hair pulling and punching. I never knew parenting was a contact sport.

7:50 PM  
Blogger ptg said...

I hope you are saving this stuff so you can make the boys read it later. Maybe they won't mind so much when you finally get old enough to be a burden on them. If they complain about taking care of you, tell 'em to write a blog about it.

8:30 AM  
Blogger Tink said...

At least it's not Barney. When my brothers were little that was ALL that could be on the tube without them screaming. We had over fifty videos before they eventually (thank god) grew out of them. And I knew all the words to all the songs in every effing one of them.

2:43 PM  
Blogger PEACE said...

Hey, didn't anyone tell you about catchers gear? Chest protector?

Seriously, as a mother of 4 (3 ov which were in four years!)I remember being a zombie, but everytime I was rocking my baby, thinking I'd do just about anything for 3 hours of sleep, I thought of this poem:

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait for tomorrow,
For babies grow up, I've learned, to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

I would then try to memorize their face, their smallness, every little thing about them so one day when I was old and they had all moved out, I could remember the time I rocked them in my arms and all was truly right with my world.

So, here I am now. All kids out on their own, and I now know, those were the very best times of my life. Even the screaming, food flinging, poopy messy coming out all over everything, days.

11:52 PM  
Blogger Mrs. Harridan said...

I sometimes wonder if mine kicked worse in utero.

I personally am suffering from The Crying When Placed in Crib That Immediately Subsides When Placed In Adult Bed. Sleep training begins next week.

You pray for me and I'll pray for you, like good Catholics.

9:29 PM  
Anonymous wordgirl said...

It gets better. I promise.

10:01 AM  

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