they tell you how horrid the pain during birth is.
they tell you how you'll never sleep again, never have me time, never do your hair, never wear clean clothes.
they tell you how much you'll love the little crying thing.
they tell you that you'll take a billion pictures and think he's the greatest thing since the crock pot.
they tell you you'll never be the same.
they don't tell you you'll never be the same.
you'll never have another worry-free day.
you'll have the worst anxiety of your life- bank robberies, rear endings, leaving your baby in the car, kidnapping, peanuts! those nasty peanuts! don't even mention honey! the quickest exit of the grocery store in case a suicide gunman enters- can i hide with my baby in a trash can? what will i do to keep him quiet? what if we get stuck in a snowstorm in our car for 11 days? what will i diaper him with?
you'll never be able to cook a decent dinner in peace again.
you'll never walk through target quietly and blissfully again. if, on the off chance, your baby isn't with you, you will be paying bills on your phone, looking for something for said baby, hurrying through to get back home to him, texting whoever has him to send you a picture of him...
you will beg for your baby to crawl, get into stuff, anything, just to stay occupied. unplugged cords? fine playthings. you said you'd never do that. you said the same thing about mickey mouse clubhouse.
you'll get more ridiculous unsolicited advice/glances/scowls than you could have imagined.
you'll forget the last time you took a shower. or you won't care.
this isn't even to mention all the weird things that will happen to your body. don't even get me started on that.
they don't tell you how hard it is. how hard it is to wonder if he's so whiney because it's something you are doing? not giving him enough attention? spoiling him? comforting him too quickly? not quick enough? is he hungry or overfed? tired? sleep too much?
playing on the kitchen floor with the 15 cooking utensils and 10 pieces of tupperware i scattered for him to play with. not to mention the mound of cheerios. (there is another mound of puffs on the living room floor. those damn puffs, they are so mildly tasty to budding taste buds)
i was supposed to bring soup for the 'feed the students' junk at damon's school tonight. last time, they ran out of food. this time they IMPLORED us all to make tons of food.
i made about 4 quarts of chicken and rice soup (pioneer woman).
it took me the whole day, because Ellis screamed from the kitchen floor. fine when i pick him up. i set him back down with new toys. scream. pick up. happy. set down. scream. repeat repeat rinse and repeat.
finally i just let him cry. in the meantime i eat 5 cookies. drink chocolate milk. decide i am going to sonic. eat chocolate covered power berries (whatever those are, trader joes).
they just don't tell you how frustrating some days will be.
he's asleep in his crib and he looks so cute, it's like labor- you instantly forget the screaming and the pain and annoyance and hard work and huffing and puffing. you want to do it instantly again.
i consider pulling him out of his crib to hold him, his cute little breath blowing on me.
only about 4 people even ate my stupid soup. i have all of it in my fridge.
those stupid feed the student dinners. i'll never cook for one again.
they don't tell you you'll have 'one of those days' more often than you anticipate. and that you'll go to bed ready and willing to do it all over, excited to see his face in the morning, sure of yourself that tomorrow is going to be such a great day.
ah, the juxtaposition that they just never tell you.