There are a great many inexplicable phenomena that take place once you become a parent. There's the Can't Complete A Sentence problem, IPSS, the Mount Vesuvius Laundry phenomenon, the ability to completely phase out screaming, and a great many more. Including the one where I Can't Finish Anything. Ever. I have started and stopped this post 3 times now. Wait, what? Who? Where? What was I doing?
Anyhoo, one of the more puke-tastic, yet unstoppable among them (for me anyway) is the Overexcited Mom phenomenon. I cannot explain it, but I know it's taken me in its sticky little grasp and I am helpless against its powers. I CAN'T STOP TALKING MOM. It's gross and annoying and a little bit embarrassing. And yet I can't make it stop.
Yes, yes. I AM a mom. Yes, yes, I'm a 98% stay-at-home parent. Yes, yes, motherhood is a huge part of my life. In fact, it's pretty much been my life for the past 3 years. BUT. I should be able to talk about other things. I shouldn't get so bloody excited to talk about another person's child's sleeping habits.
But I do. I totally, totally do. I am into other people's children's sleeping habits. And their poop habits. And their eating habits. And pregnancy. OMG, PREGNANCY. I am no longer pregnant. I do not intend to be pregnant again. I have only been pregnant for 20 months out of my entire life. And yet. I somehow feel like I'm an expert on pregnancy? Or something? Because I cannot stop talking to pregnant people about being pregnant. Or formally pregnant people about being pregnant.
And then there's the accessories that go with being pregnant. Or with being a mom. I literally have a list. (And if you ask me to, I'll totally post it for you. I'm that person. Because, OMG, PREGNANCY!!!!)
There are theories and practices and discipline techniques and potty training techniques and pedagogy and psychology and philosophies ALL CENTERED AROUND BEING A PARENT. There's what you should do and what you might have done and what you should think about doing soon and what you probably waited too long to do and now you're screwed and there's who to talk to and when and why you might have already broken your children for life. There's what happens to your body when you're pregnant and what happens to your body when you're nursing and what happens to your body when you're done being pregnant and nursing and then there's what happens to your brain and your psyche during all of this and OH. MY. GOD. The stuff. So much stuff.
It's exhausting. It's exhaustive. But I cannot stop talking about it because there's just so much to talk about. Guess what my kids did today?!? Your kids did what today?!? You're gonna have kids?!? YAY KIDS!!!
Ugh. On the rare occasions when I get a moment alone with my husband, or night out with a girlfriend (who? where? what's happening?), I can't seem to stop talking mom. And when I hang out with my friends who don't have children, I still can't stop talking mom. And when I find out my friends will be having new children? OMG, PREGNANCY.
Dude. It's a sickness. I'm way too momcentric. I need a hobby. I need time for a hobby.
Actually, I just need sleep.
P.S. This phenomenon has been explained beautifully and better than I ever could here.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The Upright Citizen
And... he walks! Well, kinda. A few days ago my baby, now a one year old, stood up proudly and took two steps forward. And then he did it again. And again. My littlest boy, my last baby, is walking. Oh dear god. He has yet to take more than 3 steps at time before collapsing to the ground, but he continues to take every step with glee. It's as though he can't believe he's actually doing it. Neither can I, my little Squishy, neither can I.
He's growing up, and I can't help but mourn the last dregs of babyhood in my life. He is still a baby- not big enough to eat a grape on his own or be trusted near a cord- but he is also clearly growing toward toddlerhood. (I'm screwed. TWO toddlers at once.) He's nearly weaned from breastfeeding, starting on regular milk, and chattering away like a little hairless chimpanzee. He's an awesome little guy- simultaneously jolly and infuriatingly headstrong. He has an infectiously throaty little chortle and finds his big brother HILARIOUS. He bangs on drums (and anything else) with reckless abandon and has freakishly solid rhythm for a one year old. He is also a recent master of the arching, throw-yourself-on-the-floor, screeching, sobbing fit. Like I said, toddlerhood is nigh.
What with recent events, watching my baby boy take those tentative first steps is surprisingly bittersweet. I am absolutely, completely and totally confident in our decision to cease fire on the baby-makin'. Two children is plenty for us and frankly, some days it feels like too much. But knowing for certain that this will be the last one... it's a little sad.
Part of me is ecstatic. In a few weeks when I completely wean my baby from breastfeeding, I will have my body to myself for the first time in four years. I have been either breastfeeding or pregnant (or both!) for FOUR CONTINUOUS YEARS. And let me tell you, four years is a very long time not to have control over your own body. Man, I am gonna get so drunk the day I wean that boy. (I may or may not be kidding.) I also will never again have to experience the first three nauseating months of pregnancy, will never have to give birth again, will never again have to watch my belly stretch to the size of a small zeppelin. So very many things to celebrate. With lots and lots of beer.
But the other part of me is bummed that I will never be pregnant again. I was never one of those people who claimed to love being pregnant (and honestly, I think those people are full of it), but it really is an incredible process. I will never feel a little person doing calisthenics in my belly again. I will never again experience the amazing, though painful, process of giving birth and I will never look a new little person in the eyes as his mother again. No more first steps, no more first laughs or rolling over or waving bye-bye.
Now, before you start accusing me of histrionics, I'm not as forlorn as I sound. SWEAR. I really am glad that I only have two children. I am SURE that two is the right number for my husband and me and we are incredibly lucky to have the babies we have. They are wonderful, funny, kind little people and I couldn't be more in love. But I think it's important to honor these unexpected feelings of sadness at the end of babies. Babies are cool little beings, and I'm going to miss having one. Especially when my current baby starts screaming "NO!" at me and throwing things. Then I'm REALLY gonna miss babies.
Anyway, the whole point of this post was to say... he walks! It's going to be an even crazier ride from here on out and I may have to eliminate every item on every surface in our house. My husband is going to be STOKED.
He's growing up, and I can't help but mourn the last dregs of babyhood in my life. He is still a baby- not big enough to eat a grape on his own or be trusted near a cord- but he is also clearly growing toward toddlerhood. (I'm screwed. TWO toddlers at once.) He's nearly weaned from breastfeeding, starting on regular milk, and chattering away like a little hairless chimpanzee. He's an awesome little guy- simultaneously jolly and infuriatingly headstrong. He has an infectiously throaty little chortle and finds his big brother HILARIOUS. He bangs on drums (and anything else) with reckless abandon and has freakishly solid rhythm for a one year old. He is also a recent master of the arching, throw-yourself-on-the-floor, screeching, sobbing fit. Like I said, toddlerhood is nigh.
What with recent events, watching my baby boy take those tentative first steps is surprisingly bittersweet. I am absolutely, completely and totally confident in our decision to cease fire on the baby-makin'. Two children is plenty for us and frankly, some days it feels like too much. But knowing for certain that this will be the last one... it's a little sad.
Part of me is ecstatic. In a few weeks when I completely wean my baby from breastfeeding, I will have my body to myself for the first time in four years. I have been either breastfeeding or pregnant (or both!) for FOUR CONTINUOUS YEARS. And let me tell you, four years is a very long time not to have control over your own body. Man, I am gonna get so drunk the day I wean that boy. (I may or may not be kidding.) I also will never again have to experience the first three nauseating months of pregnancy, will never have to give birth again, will never again have to watch my belly stretch to the size of a small zeppelin. So very many things to celebrate. With lots and lots of beer.
But the other part of me is bummed that I will never be pregnant again. I was never one of those people who claimed to love being pregnant (and honestly, I think those people are full of it), but it really is an incredible process. I will never feel a little person doing calisthenics in my belly again. I will never again experience the amazing, though painful, process of giving birth and I will never look a new little person in the eyes as his mother again. No more first steps, no more first laughs or rolling over or waving bye-bye.
Now, before you start accusing me of histrionics, I'm not as forlorn as I sound. SWEAR. I really am glad that I only have two children. I am SURE that two is the right number for my husband and me and we are incredibly lucky to have the babies we have. They are wonderful, funny, kind little people and I couldn't be more in love. But I think it's important to honor these unexpected feelings of sadness at the end of babies. Babies are cool little beings, and I'm going to miss having one. Especially when my current baby starts screaming "NO!" at me and throwing things. Then I'm REALLY gonna miss babies.
Anyway, the whole point of this post was to say... he walks! It's going to be an even crazier ride from here on out and I may have to eliminate every item on every surface in our house. My husband is going to be STOKED.
Friday, July 8, 2011
The Fear
(TMI Alert.)
Today the fear set in and I took a paranoia-fueled trip to the grocery store to buy a pregnancy test. Ever since having my beautiful, but unplanned, second son I've been filled with the terror that I am pregnant. There has been no real basis for these fears. I am on birth control and we are using protection. Then again, I was using protection after my first son and HELLO SECOND BABY! Thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully, depending on whether you are my husband), one generally needs to have sex to get pregnant and that particular occurrence is few and far between. This fact alone has kept my constant fear at bay. Kind of. Nonetheless, it has happened here and there and I have been consumed with one thought: Maybe. It. Happened. Again.
Don't get me wrong, I love my children with wild abandon. I think they are wonderful, darling, brilliant tiny people and I wouldn't trade them for the world. But I think pregnancy should come when you're expecting it. You know, so you don't drink a vat of gin or go bungee jumping while you're expecting. It seems like forethought is a good idea. And frankly, I'm afraid that one more child (let alone one more "surprise" child) could send me off the edge. I've already experienced two under two, and it is NUTS. I have no context for this crazy multiple children stuff. My husband and I are both only children and two has us overwhelmed. I realize that this is ridiculous and possibly pathetic, but that's the way it is. Besides, these little people are expensive!! Two is enough.
And so... the frightening trip to the store to buy pregnancy tests. Thanks to much hope and finger crossing and praying to Sweet Baby Jesus, the test was negative. No baby. Pregnancy free. FREE!!! Well... not quite free since I'm still breastfeeding and taking care of a 6 month old and 2 year old, but still. It's a good feeling not to be pregnant. My kids are awesome and I love them immensely, but I'm all set with the two. Thanks Universe (and Baby Jesus).
Today the fear set in and I took a paranoia-fueled trip to the grocery store to buy a pregnancy test. Ever since having my beautiful, but unplanned, second son I've been filled with the terror that I am pregnant. There has been no real basis for these fears. I am on birth control and we are using protection. Then again, I was using protection after my first son and HELLO SECOND BABY! Thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully, depending on whether you are my husband), one generally needs to have sex to get pregnant and that particular occurrence is few and far between. This fact alone has kept my constant fear at bay. Kind of. Nonetheless, it has happened here and there and I have been consumed with one thought: Maybe. It. Happened. Again.
Don't get me wrong, I love my children with wild abandon. I think they are wonderful, darling, brilliant tiny people and I wouldn't trade them for the world. But I think pregnancy should come when you're expecting it. You know, so you don't drink a vat of gin or go bungee jumping while you're expecting. It seems like forethought is a good idea. And frankly, I'm afraid that one more child (let alone one more "surprise" child) could send me off the edge. I've already experienced two under two, and it is NUTS. I have no context for this crazy multiple children stuff. My husband and I are both only children and two has us overwhelmed. I realize that this is ridiculous and possibly pathetic, but that's the way it is. Besides, these little people are expensive!! Two is enough.
And so... the frightening trip to the store to buy pregnancy tests. Thanks to much hope and finger crossing and praying to Sweet Baby Jesus, the test was negative. No baby. Pregnancy free. FREE!!! Well... not quite free since I'm still breastfeeding and taking care of a 6 month old and 2 year old, but still. It's a good feeling not to be pregnant. My kids are awesome and I love them immensely, but I'm all set with the two. Thanks Universe (and Baby Jesus).
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