OK, I Lied. Some Of It Is Hard.
Sometimes I worry that I give the impression on this blog that I think having a baby is just the easiest thing in the world, and gee, my life has pretty much been able to chug along as normal since they sent me home from the hospital with a tiny, incontinent bald woman who makes inappropriate advances towards my chest with alarming regularity.
MY EYES ARE UP HERE, Sadie.
I guess it’s because I know I’ve written things like this post, where I am all SACK UP, IT’S JUST A BABY, and – although I still stand by all the things I said – I feel like I’ve backed myself into a corner. A corner in which I can never express a frustration or two about parenthood without coming off like a massive hypocritical douchenozzle.
So now that I’ve called myself out on possibly coming across as a massive hypocritical douchenozzle, I am hoping you will refrain from doing so as I proceed to get some stuff off my chest.
- Hi, I am tired. It’s not that I miss sleeping in so much, it’s that I hate how lame I am in the evening after Sadie goes to bed. After the kid is asleep, it’s supposed to be Adult Time, right? All dirty movies and hookers and booze? Well, as long as that hooker doesn’t mind rubbing my feet as I pass out after drinking half a beer ten minutes into the movie, sure, Adult Time it is.
Also, am I the only one who wishes hookers still dressed like this? Fancy!
- It’s not that I CAN’T get out of the house, it’s that I kinda don’t want to. A couple weeks ago there was something fun I wanted to get out and do in the evening, and Internet, it couldn’t have been MORE do-able. The show started late enough that I’d totally be able to get all my Sadie time in and even put her to bed before I’d need to leave the house. But I didn’t go. And I don’t even really know why. I think part of it was feeling tired, but also just the thought of possibly missing out on any time with Sadie (if she woke up later that night and I wasn’t there, if she went to bed later that night and I had to leave while she was still awake) bothered me enough that I didn’t even look into getting tickets. Honestly, I think I’m a little hung up on the “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” nature of having a baby. Internet, she changes SO MUCH and SO FAST, sometimes even from one day to the next, and ever since she was born I’ve been bombarded with the comments of “It all goes so fast” from other parents, and unlike the “You’ll never eat another meal in a restaurant again” comments, I know this one is true. I can remember that first week after getting home from the hospital, my mother kept telling me to freeze Sadie’s face in my mind because by next week she’d look totally different (and of course, she did). And then I panic a little when I realize that OMG, I sort of can’t remember what it was like when we measured her age in days or weeks instead of months, and I look at pictures of her as a smooshy newborn and think “Who the hell is that?” and everything feels so totally out of my control and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! So tell me, Internet parents, does this get better? Will there come a time where I won’t always choose to spend 45 extra minutes with Sadie over doing something that doesn’t require monitoring another person’s bowel movements?
Although I suppose I can have both, if I attend the right kind of performance art.
(This photo is of performance art in China. You are welcome. Also, why isn’t that my job?)
- I’d like the Worry, with the Worry sauce, and a side of steamed Worry. Before Sadie was born, I was a champion worrier. Now that she’s here, I worry about so much that it’s easier to just tell you what I DON’T worry about:
1. The plight of the Pacific walrus;
2. Michael Phelps
I’ll let your own mother worry about you.
Alright, I think I’m done. Whew. Thank you, Internet, for letting me get that out in the open. And just so we’re clear: all of that stuff I just mentioned? Even if you multiplied the entire list by a million and added a nasty case of genital warts?
Doesn’t hold even the tiniest candle to the awesomeness of this. Nope, no way, not even by a long shot.