I'm a new mom. Do not read that like I said it using a goddess-like tone. I didn't. I only put it out there because it sums up life today. I'll be justly punished with 8 zillion digital ads for Mommy-work-from-home scams and tips tolose belly fat. Thanks Google+, whoever you are.
For the nine months I was pregnant, I didn't think anything was really going to happen. Oh sure, I had loads of showers, built a precious nursery, and picked out a cute little boy name, but I just couldn't imagine myself as someone's mom. Had I delivered a Cabbage Patch Kid, I would have thought, "Ok. This makes sense."
Like a jackass, I told many people before I had him that I didn't have a maternal bone in my body. When he arrived, I cooed at the bundle in my arms and ate my words. In a surprise twist, I filled the maternal requirements pretty naturally and in the past seven months I've experienced many poignant, "Oh $hit, I'm a Mom!" moments.
My daily appointments with the milkman (aka the hospital grade pump) made me feel all mom-like with a touch of cow mixed in.
Tearing up as I left my computer on my office desk and walked away from my Marketing Director gig right after explaining the differences between the "Snap 'n Go" and Travel System to a pregnant co-worker made me well aware that motherhood was upon me.
The indifference to bodily fluids all over me and overwhelming love thing were another two signs that mommyhood had arrived in all its filth and splendor.
However, the day I knew there was no going back; that there was no understudy for my starring role as Mom was the day I could recognize my bruises.
Now, bruises are NOTHING new. In my younger and more carefree days, it was commonplace to wake up covered with them. Black and blue splotches were markers of a good night. Whether stumbling home, falling off tables whilst trying to dance, or tripping down ice-coated stairs at my chilly New England college, the left-behind bruises were usually the starting point for my roommates and I when trying to piece together the previous night. I say piece it together because we could never remember how we got them. What 19 year-old can??
Fast forward a decade or so. When my husband arrives home from Dallas on Fridays, he takes stock of the house and what's changed. In addition to noticing there was no food in the house, he also noticed that the lower half of my body looked like it had lost a street fight.
"What happened to your toe?" he asked while aiming a disgusted look at my right foot.
"Broke it," I responded using as few words as possible, only wanting to eat my ice cream and get in bed. TO SLEEP you pervs. I'm alone with a seven month old all day. What do you think is on my mind?
"How?" he asked again with more intrigue.
"I had the baby and I tripped over the coffee table and had to catch myself so I didn't fall holding him. Caught myself with my toe."
"Huh. Be careful next time." Sage advice from the man who knows almost nothing about The Hours from three to six in a house with a baby. You'll do ANYTHING.
"Is that a bug on your leg? It looks like a leech." I stopped eating my ice cream now aware we were having a conversation that required more than a few grunts.
"Nope. It's a cut."
"From shaving?" I laughed, maybe a bit too loud.
"No. I was getting the big ass stroller out of the trunk with one hand because the baby was in the other and it swung into my leg before it hit the ground. It was surprisingly painful."
"And what about all the bruises on your calf?"
"I wrestle the stroller every time I use it."
"I thought it was supposed to be easy to use."
"Yeah, well, Chicco failed if that was the objective." Now proud of my battle scars I pointed to a big purple one on my hip. "See this one?" I asked.
"That's huge!" my husband said.
"I know," I said, my eyes aglow, "I walked straight into the wall one night. Totally misjudged the angle leaving his room and slammed into it at full speed."
"Remember when you used to get bruises from falling off tables and dancing on bars?" he asked.
"Nope. I never remembered those injuries." My eyes got wide. I stopped eating my ice cream, just for a moment, and looked at my husband who was now the one laughing.
"You're a MOM."