I can't decide if I want to write a blog post about postpartum hair loss, or about how cute and advanced my son is.
The two topics don't go very well together either—so it's not like I could seamlessly go from one idea to the next. It would be like serving lasagna with a side of curry for dinner. They just don't jive.
Today I'm having one of those days where I feel like a shitty ass parent. I just feel so glum (yes, I said glum) and I swear Cole can feel it. I've sung many songs, gone for some walks, and we even had a play in the park: complete with airplane rides. But I just feel like he just knows that today isn't as fun as other days. I once told my husband that I thought Cole slept so much that day because he found me boring. He laughed and reminded me that babies need to sleep. I still think I was boring him...
I've been writing this blog now for six months and I've yet to write a post about the other half of my son's DNA. Is that selfish and rude or what? There was no immaculate conception here...so I should probably give a shout out to Cole's baby daddy (aka my husband, Tyler).
Father's Day would have been an appropriate time to write a heart-felt blog. And I did write one. Sort of. And then I never finished it because someone started crying and distracted me (I'm not naming names, but I'm looking at you Cole)
I am normally good at being a chilled-out new mom. But right now, I am filled with a crimson rage. I just had the most annoying morning walk with my dog and I'm ready to snap. I don't know if there is such a thing, but I'm going to call this "mommy rage."
Lack of sleep for four straight f*cking months + everything that is irritating = mommy rage
Let me describe for you what I THOUGHT was going to be a lovely morning stroll.
So I thought I should let you all know that I've started dating again. My husband is very supportive & always asks how my dates went. And even though this is unfamiliar territory for me, I've really been enjoying myself and have had some great dates!
Now before you get your panties in a knot, I should probably clarify that I am talking about MOM DATES. That's right. As a new Mom, you want to meet other new moms, so.... You go on MOM DATES!
I have a theory that socks and soothers are somehow related: they each go missing, no matter how many you have. Socks, I can somewhat understand because everyone knows about the dryer burglar. But soothers? Is there a soother monster I don't know about?
Thankfully, Playtex just sent me about ten thousand* soothers, because I'm sure in a week I'll end up with only five.
*ten thousand in exaggerated Jen-speak translates to about 20, but that's still pretty awesome.
So I've realized I'm a hoarder. A hoarder of my own breastmilk. It's like a stamp or antique spoon collection. I love to open the freezer and look at the bags of frozen breast milk. I count them. "One, two, three, four..." and then I add up how many ounces I have and fantasize about all of the things I could do with so much frozen milk: I could get a massage! I could go for a pedicure! I could have 4 glasses of wine...in a row!
As I sit here with my baby snuggled up on my chest asleep, I'm stroking his peach fuzzy head with my lips. I feel like a cat grooming her kittens. lt's one of my favourite things to do. I close my eyes and inhale the baby smell as I mould his hair into a mini mohawk with my lips. Strange? Perhaps. But us mothers do tons of strange things. We sing strange songs, we make strange faces, and we have strange "tricks of the trade" to help our babies sleep, eat, feel comforted etc...
I'm going to start this post off by admitting that I had originally intended to use cloth diapers. I even went so far as to order several pairs online. I am now selling those un-used cloth diapers on kijiji (please reserve judgment. I recycle! I compost! I take public transit...when I'm not driving!) ;)
Anyway, now that I'm changing 12-15 dirty diapers a day—there is a new love in my life and his name is Diaper Genie.
Last week I met up with Erica and she pointed her finger at me sternly and said "You MUST write a post about what it's like to be a new mom: was it anything like what you expected?" And then she threatened to beat me up if I didn't write it!
So I write you this blog post out of fear and obligation...
The other day I was sitting on the couch feeding Cole, when all of the sudden my mini-schnauzer (who has little dog syndrome) lost his mind and ran towards the door barking. Oh great. An un-announced visitor, and I haven’t showered or put deodorant on in days. Awesome. I quickly un-latched the baby, and wiped vomit off my shoulder. I ran to the door to discover two large brown parcels. Woo Hoo! Presents! I love presents! The only question was: who were they from?
Once I got them upstairs I realized they were a gift from my first-ever blog sponsor: PLAYTEX!
So, I have totally become that Mom — the one who dresses her child up in cutesy outfits and takes embarrassing photos. Anything with animal ears is a must-have. To date, Cole has been a bear (twice), a bunny, and a baby hippo. Most of these animal hats have been crocheted by my mother-in-law, so I sort of had to dress him up in them. (That’s my excuse anyway. I secretly, or not so secretly now, love it and think it’s hilarious!)
So, I have come to the realization, two-and-a-half weeks after having my baby, that I am in fact a cow. Literally. I’m not complaining about any extra baby weight. I’m being serious. I spend ninety percent of my day with my boobs hanging out-feeding my baby. I don’t do anything else. Sure, I change him after he shits himself (100 times per day) and sometimes he sleeps, but most of the time I am a feeding machine.