Let me start this post by saying I LOVE being a mom and I LOVE my daughter. I can honestly say I feel like I have accomplished nothing greater and my child is my entire world.
Before I was blessed with my little nugget, I had no idea what parenthood was like. I used to get annoyed when my mom friends couldn't talk on the phone for more than five minutes and seemed to be ten minutes late to everything. I didn't "get" the hundreds of facebook posts about teeth, rolling, and walking and I certainly didn't care to talk about the huge diaper sale at Target. Now, these things run my life, and it's awesome.
Alas, between the snuggles, the first words and the open-mouth kisses, there are some not-so-glamorous parts of parenthood that no one ever seems to talk about. My kid is in bed and I don't feel like cleaning. So...here we go.
1. Crap.
Literally. Crap. On your hands. If you're a parent and claim that you have never found poop on your hands, you're lying. After I change a nice, ripe diaper, it's often inevitable that I get a little smear of that beautiful green excrement somewhere on one of my fingers. It doesn't happen all the time, but more than you'd think. Once my kid hit about 7 months, changing her diaper was like wrestling an alligator. Sometimes she turns the wrong way and there it is. All over my hand. The best is when I find it a couple hours later, after I've done about ten other things. It's like, "Oh, awesome...I just ate and I had crap on my hand." Yes, I wash my hands after I change a poopy diaper, but that ish doesn't just rinse off.
2. Puke.
You're going to get puked on. More than once. It's going to smell worse than anything you have ever inhaled into your nostrils.
3. Sick Days
Before children, missing work was a huge deal. At the end of the term, year, whatever... you probably had a plethora of sick days left. Get ready to burn through them. Quickly (if you aren't a stay-at-home parent). I'm not saying your kid will get every disease and sickness imaginable, it just doesn't take much to spike a fever. Kids can't go to daycare when they have a fever.
4. The Telephone
I realize not everyone is off work at 3:40 like I am...yet, this is when I will probably call you back. I have a fifteen minute drive home where I am completely alone. This is about the only time I can be 100% attentive to our conversation. Once I am home, there is snack time, dinner time, bath time, bottle time, story time and then bed time. After that I get about 30 minutes of HGTV and talking to my husband before I pass out. Weekends are hit or miss. If you call me back anytime that is not between 3:40 and 3:55 or one of my random weekend times, please, don't be offended. I just like my kid more than you.
I want to say "kidding!"....but that would be a lie.
5. Crap. Again.
Texting each other pictures of our kid's poop is pretty normal. Poop is celebrated. It is described in great detail. If she isn't pooping, we are worried. If she is pooping too much, we are worried AND we talk about her blow-outs. This sh*t never ends. Literally.
6.Taking turns
This takes on a whole new meaning. I can recall several "discussions" at 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. that consisted of nothing more than, "NO! IT'S YOUR TURN!" If one commits to a turn, there is no "turning" back. Did you like that? I thought it was clever.
I ended up documenting turns. Example-
7 A.M- Ash
10 A.M- J
1 P.M- Ash
4 P.M- J
7 P.M- Ash
10 P.M- J
1 A.M- Ash
4 A.M- J (this feeding is a real doosie)
This helped me...and hurt me. Sometimes I would groan at 1 A.M "No...your turn". Darn you...stupid list.
6. Traveling sucks.
I hope you have a big trunk...because it is going to be FULL. No matter how large. Diaper bag, bouncer, swing, clothes, toys, bumbo...
I never thought I would have mini-van envy. It's a real thing.
My life now fits into a back-pack. My kid's takes up my entire vehicle.
The longer the trip, the worse it is. The longer you're gone, the more junk you have to pack. Have a small baby? Be ready to stop every three hours to feed it. Apparently, they need to eat to survive. Who'd a thunk?
Aside from all of this stinky, tiring, and funny stuff; waking up to a happy and healthy baby makes my life worthwhile every day. It sounds super cheesy, but our kid is the center of our universe. Excitement is often attained when we find out Target is having that huge diaper sale, Babies-R-Us has BOGO Fisher Price toys or just when our kid says a new word or flashes us a gummy grin.
After typing all of this, I am now going to go check on my sleeping kid. I will probably stand over her crib for about three minutes, text her a daddy a picture of her, and attempt to kiss her without waking her up.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Words Of Wisdom From my Mother
My dad was a coach, my siblings are coaches and of course I married a coach. In my experience, it seems like women tend to marry what they're used to and what they're comfortable with. I ended up with a teacher/coach. This surprised no one in my family and they love him for this as they can all relate to him. My husband is a great guy; he gets along with everyone and splits all of our kid duties 50/50 (when he's home). I have zero complaints about him. Even if I did, I certainly wouldn't broadcast them on the Internet :). I love him and support him in everything he does. Yet, I'm finding that "supporting someone" means different things to different people. When I was young, my mother taught me some important lessons about marrying someone who coaches multiple sports. I am extremely thankful that she took the time to remind me of these recently and I feel inclined to tip my hat towards the smartest lady I have ever met.
1. He is the coach, I am not.
He coaches for a reason- he loves it. That does not mean that I have to love that he is gone all the time or that I have to love whatever he is coaching. I don't need to memorize all of his players names and numbers, strengths, weaknesses, or even know what position they play. That isn't my job, it's his. My job is to try not to complain to him about being a single parent during his longest and most demanding seasons. My job is to listen when he talks about his game- even if I have no idea what he is saying. As a supportive wife, I will drop off subway at his game or make sure he has some cash to get something while he is there. My job is to care if he won or lost, not to go over the game with him. I would just sound like an idiot, anyway :).
2. It is not my responsibility to drag my kid(s) to every game.
My kid doesn't want to sit in the bleachers at a basketball game, a football game or stand on a golf course. My kid wants to see her mommy and daddy for the three hours she gets at home with them before she goes to bed. She wants to eat dinner in her high chair, not on my lap eating something from a concession stand. When she is older, I'm sure she (and her little sister who will arrive soon) will like these things. At that time, they will also be able to walk and be much more independent- which will make taking them places much easier. My responsibility is to make sure my kids get their dinner, stories and bath because I support my husband doing what he loves, so I am willing to do these tasks alone for that particular season.
3. If he wants to have a team gathering at our house, he can make the arrangements.
I am 100% fine with team gatherings. Heck, if I am given enough notice I will even help my husband pick up our house. Having said this- cleaning the entire house alone and preparing a meal for the entire team is not something I will do (nor something he would ever ask me to do). I'm an awful cook. I have a hard enough time figuring out what to eat on nights that my husband isn't there to help me decide (and usually grill something). Having 10-20 kids in my house is stressful enough- cooking for them would be out of the question. My job (as the supportive wife) is to allow him to have said gathering, get my kids and myself out of the way, and make sure their toys are picked up... not making a spaghetti dinner for an army. My mom always said "Coaches know how to use a phone. Order pizza or a giant sub. Done." What a brilliant lady.
4. Never start doing stats.
Number four is probably my favorite of all the lessons my wise mother taught me. Whatever sport the husband is coaching, never start helping them with stats. First, we don't really have this issue as my husband's main sport is basketball. Basketball is the sport I know the least about. When my dad was coaching wrestling (a sport my family knows a lot about), my mom refused to take stats. It wasn't her job. It was his job and the manager's job. "Once they know you can take stats, they will ask you to do them constantly." She explained to me that she supported him by attending the matches she could and making him a snack the days he watched film and went over stats. It wasn't her job to take the stats. She didn't ever want to take stats- that's why he is the coach and she is not. Man, my mom is smart.
So thanks, Mom. Thank you for taking the time to explain these things to me. Somehow, you knew I'd probably end up with a coach. You knew I would have kids (even though I swore I never would) and you knew I would later ask you what the heck I was going to survive. You're a genius, and I am thankful you taught me such valuable lessons.
1. He is the coach, I am not.
He coaches for a reason- he loves it. That does not mean that I have to love that he is gone all the time or that I have to love whatever he is coaching. I don't need to memorize all of his players names and numbers, strengths, weaknesses, or even know what position they play. That isn't my job, it's his. My job is to try not to complain to him about being a single parent during his longest and most demanding seasons. My job is to listen when he talks about his game- even if I have no idea what he is saying. As a supportive wife, I will drop off subway at his game or make sure he has some cash to get something while he is there. My job is to care if he won or lost, not to go over the game with him. I would just sound like an idiot, anyway :).
2. It is not my responsibility to drag my kid(s) to every game.
My kid doesn't want to sit in the bleachers at a basketball game, a football game or stand on a golf course. My kid wants to see her mommy and daddy for the three hours she gets at home with them before she goes to bed. She wants to eat dinner in her high chair, not on my lap eating something from a concession stand. When she is older, I'm sure she (and her little sister who will arrive soon) will like these things. At that time, they will also be able to walk and be much more independent- which will make taking them places much easier. My responsibility is to make sure my kids get their dinner, stories and bath because I support my husband doing what he loves, so I am willing to do these tasks alone for that particular season.
3. If he wants to have a team gathering at our house, he can make the arrangements.
I am 100% fine with team gatherings. Heck, if I am given enough notice I will even help my husband pick up our house. Having said this- cleaning the entire house alone and preparing a meal for the entire team is not something I will do (nor something he would ever ask me to do). I'm an awful cook. I have a hard enough time figuring out what to eat on nights that my husband isn't there to help me decide (and usually grill something). Having 10-20 kids in my house is stressful enough- cooking for them would be out of the question. My job (as the supportive wife) is to allow him to have said gathering, get my kids and myself out of the way, and make sure their toys are picked up... not making a spaghetti dinner for an army. My mom always said "Coaches know how to use a phone. Order pizza or a giant sub. Done." What a brilliant lady.
4. Never start doing stats.
Number four is probably my favorite of all the lessons my wise mother taught me. Whatever sport the husband is coaching, never start helping them with stats. First, we don't really have this issue as my husband's main sport is basketball. Basketball is the sport I know the least about. When my dad was coaching wrestling (a sport my family knows a lot about), my mom refused to take stats. It wasn't her job. It was his job and the manager's job. "Once they know you can take stats, they will ask you to do them constantly." She explained to me that she supported him by attending the matches she could and making him a snack the days he watched film and went over stats. It wasn't her job to take the stats. She didn't ever want to take stats- that's why he is the coach and she is not. Man, my mom is smart.
So thanks, Mom. Thank you for taking the time to explain these things to me. Somehow, you knew I'd probably end up with a coach. You knew I would have kids (even though I swore I never would) and you knew I would later ask you what the heck I was going to survive. You're a genius, and I am thankful you taught me such valuable lessons.
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