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 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 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.
Well, it’s week 38 (eek!) and I’ll be honest with you: I’ve really enjoyed my pregnancy. Even with the aches and pains here and there, I’ve been really fortunate. I’ve even been fortunate enough to escape most of the heinous pregnancy-related comments that friends and random strangers alike are capable of dishing out.
