Mister Sandman! Bring me a dream doodoododooo!

I used to think I could function pretty well on minimal amounts of sleep. I went to college after all. I have discovered though, the unfortunate difference in staying up all night doing tequila shots and dancing inappropriately to Britney Spears, and staying up all night to tend to the well being of another human being. 

The problem with the whole thing though, is I haven't slept since May. Being 9 months pregnant basically means peeing and being uncomfortable. Which in turn, means sleep is like your feet, they pretty much don't exisit to you. 

Then you labor for ohh about 12 hours. And everyone is all, "rest while you can!". Except every three minutes someone is jabbing needles in you, or poking at your cervix (which incidently is exactly as much fun as it sounds). Not to mention all that's running through your mind is, "fuuuuck I have to push a human being out of me?!!" and all you've had to eat in the past 12 hours is ice chips. 

But! Then the baby comes! Yay! And all you want to do is stare at that little face that has suddenly consumed your entire existence. Plus, there are fingers and toes to count! And a head that needs constant nuzzling! Oh, and that cervix poking? Yeah, it doesn't stop. Apparently stuff is still going on down there so someone will barge into your room frequently to check out the carnage that has become your vagina. Somehow, through all that, sleep takes over. Wait! Did you hear that? The baby made a noise! That's the sound of deep sleep evading you. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! You can now count on every squeak and twitch and groan and sniffle and sigh and blink to rudely interrupt any sort of sleep you manage to steal. 

And here's a fun fact, babies eat. Sometimes, babies eat every two hours. So just as you're drifting off snuggled in your bed, a wailing begins that sounds like the depths of hell (that means, "suckkkaaaa time to wake up and feed me again!") 

Andy and I have always had a pact. When the zombie apocalypse comes, and one of us is ravaged and begins to turn, the other is supposed to promptly shoot the face off of the soon to be zombie (it's because we love eachother). I keep waiting for andy to make good on this promise and blow my head off because I certainly feel like the undead most days. Minus the brain consumption I suppose..      

On the joys of motherhood

Poor neglected blog! Who would have thought that having a baby meant less time for things like blogging. Madness. 

Anyway, I had a baby! I'll save you from the gritty details involving my vagina and seven pounds worth of human coming out of it. I do, however, know now why ladies love to tell their labor and delivery stories. Imagine pushing an egg out of your nostril. You'd want to tell everyone about that shit, am I right?

No, today I want to discuss the changes one experiences after the joy of bringing another human to the world. My standards of existing have shifted dramatically. Let us examine with some before and after examples. 

Standard in question- cleaning the kitchen. 

Before Baby- floors mopped and swept, cupboards neat and tidy, Tupperware stacked and aranged in desending size order, small appliances wiped clean... Etc 
After Baby- dishes washed. Except silverware. Don't be greedy. 

Standard in question- Self image 

BB- showered, dressed smartly and appropriately for outing, hair product in use,  make-up applied. 
AB- A three day cap on shower neglect, a shirt is clean if there is no visable spit up/poop stain on it, the craters under your eyes put the moon to shame, getting dressed 10 minutes before andy gets home so it doesn't look like I lounged in my pjs all day.

Standard in question- relaxation 

BB- a couple of drinks on the beach, a good book, the sunshining in my face, and pleasant conversation. 
AB- when I lock myself in the bathroom for three minutes of "quiet"

Standard in question- Leaving the house

BB- cell phone, keys, wallet. 
AB, diapers, bottles, extra bottles, three changes of clothes, two burp cloths, pacifier, blanket, bottles, changing pad, "what do you mean you forgot the wipes? What am I supposed to do? Spit on a napkin??" 

Standard in question- Dining out

BB-cringing when the hostess sits you next to the screaming kid
AB- cringing because you HAVE the screaming kid

The larger lesson at play here is that you should never become a parent. Nooo I'm kidding.  Definitions and standards in life need to change, if they don't then you end up believing you are unhappy. But truthfully, being covered in someone elses bodily fluids has never made me happier.