Upon arrival home from the hospital, my husband and I walked into our post-baby house knowing it would never be the same. We sat the car seat on our dresser (because that is safe and what you do right?) and just looked at each other with the same thought, "So...Uh...What do we do now?"
I am happy to say that we have kept another human alive for three months, but before I can get into any of that, there is something I must say to all of the other parents of the world -- I'M SORRY, deeply, genuinely, and truly SORRY.
Dear anyone who has parented, is currently parenting, or has remotely done anything related to it: It was me who judged you constantly.
It was me who sat by you at dinner and bitched about how your screaming kids were ruining my meal. "If they can't behave, they should get the hell out," I think were my exact words.
It was me who sat in front of you on the airplane, rolling my eyes as your crying child ruined my Real Housewives viewing or cursing your name as your kid kicked my seat disrupting my precious beauty sleep.
It was me who saw you at Target while your three kids ran around the store and thought you sucked at disciplining your wild savages.
It was me who would see a tired and haggard looking mother and think, "Girl, you gotta keep it together!"
It was me who scoffed at all of your endless pictures and non-stop kid talk, believing that it was you who lost who you were and totally changed when you became a mom.
And now...
It is me who feels constantly judged as a parent. Everyone has an opinion and their digs always seem to come in the form of polite questions. Is her neck supposed to be that red? She has four chins. I bathe her nightly and have to pry each one of those caverns open to wipe up dead skin cells and dry them off. She's clean...I think. How have you liked not working? Would you like me to punch you in the throat right now? These past months I've worked 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It's the most work I've done in my life. You have her on a schedule, are you sure she's getting enough food? Have you seen her? We skipped the newborn stage and went straight to toddler. We almost had to cut her out of her going home from the hospital outfit. Don't worry. Girl is getting fed. She looks really big, is she supposed to be that big? How often are you feeding her? I can't win.
It is now me who sits at dinner with a stroller next to me like it's a ticking time bomb. It's like you are in a Michael Bay film and when the pacifier falls, your night may explode.
It is now me who flies on a plane with an eight-week-old with anxiety induced pit stains, praying every prayer to sweet baby Jesus that she doesn't scream and/or shart all over me.
It is now me who sees you at Target with your three kids and thinks, "She has three? How in hell does she have three? I bow down to her!"
It is now me who has to stop and think if she's showered in the past two days, let alone brushed her teeth. Yoga pants, baseball hats, and a shirt that is only mildly covered in drool or spit up equals keeping it together.
And it is now me who snaps seventy pictures a day and whose conversations now consist of topics like swaddle transitioning, colors and textures of baby poop, and inverted nipples. I haven't lost who I am; I just can't be that girl anymore. My biggest concern of the day is no longer what I'm going to eat next. I needed to change. I'm a mom now.
That being said...
Just know that with every gross blowout, you all are serving me up a slice of juicy humble pie.
And lastly, they say you can forgive, but you can't always forget. But who am I kidding? With prego and parenting brain, there's a good chance that in the next five minutes when dinner is burning and the kid just fed the dog chocolate, you'll have forgotten you were in the middle of reading this!
Sincerest apologies,
Raquel