Since my little baby just turned the big one year old, I have decided to post this little flashback into the days when he was just a tiny bundle of joy and spit-up in my arms.
I think it was Chandler Bing who said, “Write what you know.” Or maybe he’s the one who said, “I’m looking forward to having all the sex.” In any case, I’d like to follow Ms. Chanandler Bong’s advice and blog about what it is I know. I know things. Well, I used to know things. I used to know what happened outside my home. I used to know what movies were playing. I used to know who was on Dancing with the Stars. Now, all I know is how many diaper changes we’ve had today (The Kid’s, not mine) and how many hours of sleep I didn’t get. Really, I don’t even know that. These days I’m finding it hard to count past 1, 2…um…er…2. I’m not sure what I know anymore.
When the first in my circle of girlfriends had her baby, she said, “I promise I’m not going to be one of those mothers who just talks about her kid all the time.” Cool! I thought, and then we never spoke again. Okay, we’ve spoken since. But only to talk about her kid.
The thing is now I get it. At this point in my life, I am honestly not sure I am capable of talking about anything else. I thought I was full of baby when I was pregnant. I had no idea how consumed with baby I’d be after he was born.
Fake Non-Mom Friend: Hey! How are you today?
Me: Well, so far he’s only spit up once, and his poop has been chicken-tikka-masala-looking.
Fake Non-Mom Friend: Oh. Okay. Well, would you like to go out to lunch this week?
Me: Well, so far he’s only spit-up once, and his poop has been chicken-tikka-masala-looking.
There was a time my brain had the power to stand back and observe the strange and funny and comment on it using words. But lately, all my brain has time to do is observe the strange and funny baby that lives with us, and my words sound more like “ooh’s” and “aaaahh’s” than actual grown-up sentences. I’ve tried writing a blog using my new Mommy Vocabulary, but the whole plot seems a little lackluster. (Although, the the part about not screwing on the bottle top tight enough and all the milk spilling tested well in the 4-month-old demographic.)
Really, though, there is no space for outside stimulation—even when I am outside. I am fixated on The Kid in front of me. My brain is All Baby ALL the Time, and that’s the only thing I know for sure right now.
Fake Non-Mom Friend: Hey! Did you catch Miley Cyrus’ performance on the VMA’S?