Since I had my first child, I've dealt with an endless string of sleepless nights, the relentless cycle of feeding and pumping and changing and comforting, and the slow realization that my life will NEVER be the same again. Now that I have finally emerged from the fog of being a mommy, I have a few things I would like to say.
I want to start by apologizing to my vagina. Yes, that's right. I said it. Vagina. Cha-Chi, Britney...whatever. I just didn't know what would happen. I thought it would be easy on you. All my life I was told I had "child-bearing hips". That turned out to be a dirty lie. I pushed and pushed, and I put you, dear vagina, through hell. I did my best to protect you, and I apologize. I can only hope that the bad feelings between us can be healed.
I'd also like to say I'm sorry to my husband for all my inappropriate "wordage" in the delivery room and the resentment I felt because I had to carry our baby for nine months and you didn't. And honey, about my boobs. Try to understand that they are not for you all the time. They are working breasts and under construction most of the time.
I apologize to every woman whose baby shower I attended before I became a Mom. All those useless stuffed animals and baby booties I bought...well, I'm sure they might have come in handy at some point, but I should have just stuck to the registry and gotten things you truly needed.
I apologize once again to my husband, this time for criticizing you about the way you dress our daughter. I know she is my own personal doll come to life, and I like to play dress-up. But you make such weird choices. Why would you put her in a sweater when it's 85 degrees? It's the middle of the day- a nightgown, really? It's bedtime sweetheart, why is she wearing a hat? I recognize this is not
America's Next Top Model, but I do ask you to think about what makes sense sometimes. That's all.
I must also apologize to every mom I ever bumped into before I had a baby for judging your appearance. I mentally criticized your old sweatpants, over sized t-shirts, and your haphazard ponytails. I figured you just hadn't taken the time to get ready before you went out or were in dire need of a makeover. Now I understand those precious minutes you savor when the baby goes down for a nap.
I could shower! I could eat! I could sleep! Check my e-mail! Work out! Do laundry! I could do so much if she could just sleep a little bit longer. Then, inevitably, there's that sound through the baby monitor. (stop. wait. listen)
Was it for real? That was just a sneeze right? Oh please, I'm almost done eating. I thought I could shower. Just five more minutes. Just...nope. She's up. She's hungry. She's wet. She's something. And once you've got her fed and changed and played with her, you are on the clock to get that errand done before it all unravels again. I get it now: There is absolutely no time for a blowout or blusher. I was a complete jerk, and I'm sorry.
I see how people look at me- with that mixture of pity and disgust- in my old nursing tank covered in spit-up and the same maternity capris I wear everyday. I'm like The Elephant Man. I put my daughter in fancy clothes to compensate for the monster pushing her around. I see the stares. I know what you're saying. Well to hell with you, you small-pants-wearing Miley Cyrus fan. I have a baby (two actually). I am not always this fat.
I guess I should also apologize for my anger. But in solidarity with new mothers everywhere, I'm not going to.
But I would definitely like to apologize to my former self. I always thought I had a few pounds to lose and could look better. I never knew how great I had it. What I wouldn't give to fit into my old clothes again! I look at them longingly day after day. Hi, jeans. Hello, Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. You were all so good to me. (sniff.)
Oh to do anything at all at a leisurely pace-shop, eat, read the paper-and anything without having to wear a monitor. Waiting. Listening. For her.
While I am sending regrets, I should apologize to my pre-baby boobs for not appreciating them enough. They were a great pair of boobs-not too big, not too small. And now...sigh...who knows what will be left of them. I'm sorry, former boobs. I truly am.
I'll never be sorry about deciding to become a mother, though. There may be no going back to my old body or my old lifestyle, but having Emerald and Charlie is worth everything I've had to give up and then some. But you already knew that.
