The other night, in a rare few moments of free time, I flipped through this month's issue of Parenting magazine that had been sitting reclusively on our coffee table, unread, for weeks. Tucked within the table of contents, this notice caught my eye:
"Oh, they're looking for moms," I thought. "That's not me... is it?"
Yeah, somehow I was reading a parenting magazine and forgot that I am now an actual parent. After 28 years of more or less ignoring such notices, my eyes and my brain almost skipped this one as well.
I don't know if I've been pretending that I've just been babysitting 'round the clock for 3 weeks or what, but the fact that I am, in fact, one of those moms the magazine is potentially searching for, is just now starting to sink in.
And ever since that fateful encounter with the big "M" word, I'm noticing just how much I've actually become one.
For one: 99% of my "regular" life has taken a backseat. These days, I'm lucky to bask in the glory of a shower or a 2-minute session with my toothbrush. Makeup? Maybe. But more than likely, I'm sporting five o'clock shadows under my eyes and some turnip hair.
And forget any kind of statement necklace. Instead, I'm wearing a One-Of-A-Kind bauble composed of spit-up that perfectly contrasts the navy blue Homecoming T-shirt I've been sporting since some time yesterday and will continue to wear well into today.
Meanwhile, our normally well-maintained home is beginning to take the shape of something you might see on Hoarders. I'm convinced we are infested with house elves who dirty extra dishes and poop in the laundry bins at night and slather film onto the walls of our bathtub.
But I'd much prefer a house elf like Dobby just hear him talk in that cute elf voice.
(source)
Yet instead of finding joy in running the dishwasher or folding that extra load of clothes, I tick away the days congratulating Charlotte on her monstrous burps (homegirl can really let them loose) or high-fiving her on keeping all of the poo within the confines of her diaper and not on her cute polka dot onesie.
We amuse ourselves with rattles and bouncy seats and the light of the day coming through the living room windows. Occasionally, she turns an eye toward Say Yes to the Dress, but inevitably becomes bored when yet another picky bride turns down Randy's countless beaded offerings.
Instead of living by the clock, I now live by the Baby Care app on my phone, diligently logging every feeding session and diaper change, noting abnormalities and quickly Googling said abnormality only to find, once again, that 1,347 people had 1,347 completely different experiences.
To add to Monday's list: Stop Googling. Your baby is probably normal.
And when she finally nods off for a nap...
... I contemplate whether to
A) finally write a blog post.
B) start reading a new novel.
C) scrub down in the shower.
D) actually get around to those household chores.
But usually end up
E) snuggling with her for the whole nap.
Months ago, I would've done A, B, C, and D and had to time to bang out a 4-mile run.
But these days, I'm content to be a mom and let option E lead the pack.