Oh, hello there, kind neighbor. Why don’t you come sit next to me and I’ll casually change my cardigan and drop some knowledge on you, Mr. Rogers-style. Here’s the real scoop: Sometimes, I get mad at my kid. Even if I know whatever is ailing me has very little to do with him. Like the choice he made yesterday to throw soup on the carpet wasn’t really a choice so much as an urge in his mushy, unformed brain that made him go, “Yep, totally going to do that.” And I know that technically it’s kinda my fault that this happened because as much as I want to think that he’s fully equipped to handle spoons, it’s just not the case. Like all parents, I believe that he’s super-gifted and a genius, but deep down I know I should probably chill and accept his age-appropriate limitations. Genius or not, he's no spoon prodigy. I need to bring my A-game during mealtimes these days, whether I like it or not. Point being, that spilled soup but at least mostly my fault, but I was pissed at him about it anyway.
Seriously though, kids are hard and parents can get frustrated. This isn’t news. What I’m here to talk about now are the ridiculous things that I’ve decided to be mad about. It’s not the fact that I have no freedom or privacy in my home, or that my body will never be the same. (OK, yes, it is those things too sometimes.) Mostly, it’s the little, stupid stuff that causes me to hold an admittedly irrational grudge against my baby. Like, I resent him over these tiny, insignificant things. And you know what? I know I'm not alone in this. It's fine, guys. We not only get annoyed at our babies in isolated moments, we pettily hold onto actual grudges for whole hours (OK, days). And we usually do so over stuff like this.
When Your Favorite Shirt Is Ruined
At some point, I read that veteran moms know to keep spare clothes for them in the diaper bag, too. I immediately added a change of shirt to my bag and the very next time we went out, my little spit-up on me in such a dramatic fashion that it looked like somebody had thrown a gallon of white paint at me. The diaper bag strap, which was going across my chest at the time, was never the same. It was the first (and so far, the only) time I’ve needed the change of shirt but I was obviously very thankful for it.
When Your Pants Are Ruined
I used to nurse with just me, the baby, and a nursing pillow. Then I learned early in my nursing career to keep something in between me and the baby, lest I be spit, pooed, or peed on. He’s older now, so spills are rare, but I still keep a blanket in between him and the pillow so any potential flash floods of bodily fluid don’t ruin anything in the vicinity.
When Your Favorite... Anything Is Ruined
I love my baby, but I don’t love when he bangs two of my nice things together like cymbals and breaks one of them.
When They Change A Setting On Your Phone And You Can’t Figure Out How To Get It Back
I think this is what they mean by the term "digital native."
When You’re Unable To Eat Your Favorite Foods
This one goes out to all the sushi lovers in the midst of pregnancy.
When You’re Unable To Fit Into Your Favorite Clothes
Ugh. Did I mention I love my baby? Cause I do, I so do. But I don’t love how things went in my closet in those early months after he arrived. It's not even that I hated my body after giving birth; bodies change and that's totally cool. But man, I really did miss all the clothes that no longer fit me. Thanks, baby. Thanks a lot.
When The Prevent You From Doing ~Private Things~
No, I'm not just talking about sex — even if I could just shower in peace. Or go to the bathroom. Or put on a bra. Come on, kid. Work with me here. Learn boundaries (the grudge-holding woman mentally screamed at the developmentally incapable baby who was literally doing nothing wrong).