Do you remember those first few days after your baby was born? Do you remember how suddenly your world got smaller and larger all at the same time? Do you remember what it was like to wish you wouldn’t get peed/pooped/puked on again for at least a few hours to actually feel clean?
I’m a mom of four. Yep, four. More than double the U.S… statistical average of 1.67 children (maybe it’s changed, I’m a mom of four and too tired to even ask Siri). I moved beyond the ‘Oh isn’t that nice, you’re all set now you have a boy and a girl,’ to the ‘Your kids are so cute, but you must be exhausted,’ to the point where I’ve rendered them speechless, ‘Wow, four.’
Yep, wow. You’d think by now, I’d be an expert. Certainly, things are (sometimes) easier, knowing what to expect, what products work best for me, but life is messy and we’re always given a chance to learn. Best learned facts children 1-4: always bring two spare outfits and one for yourself, you don’t need a diaper bag that would stretch the carry-on limits of major airlines, hydrogen peroxide works great at getting fresh fluids out of clothing, natural nursing balms work better than diaper cream and don’t stink! This time is easier because I have a ten year old girl who likes to play at mothering, a seven year old boy who can read stories and (mostly) entertain himself and the four year old boy, who likes to help by fetching things for me. Really, the little Mommy’s helper stage is great (when they’re willing); they haven’t quite reached that awareness that ‘helping’ is work, and acceptable payment is still a hug, a smile, and a thank you, not money or toys or special treats.
Regardless of the help, and ‘wow, 4!’ it turns out I’m not an expert. I ‘know’ all these things, and if I could sleep enough I might remember them. Top of the list of things I should know is how to hold a conversation without adding in all this private information about me and my baby’s body fluids. But I don’t, because life is messy, and wow, I’m obsessively in love with my little boy. For instance, as a mom of four, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to me that boys sometimes go off like ill-timed sprinklers, that projectile puke nearly always happens when you’re late for an appointment, that neon orange nursing baby poop stains everything. Yet, as a mom of newborn number four, I’ve realized I’m once again suffering from New Mom-itus, or perhaps Newbornesia, or Baby-opoly. However you describe it, it’s the condition that mixes being tired (that advice of sleep when your baby sleeps sounds great, but see above note on being obsessed with the baby, and in my case having three others to love) with a mess of hormones while keeping a new life alive. The symptoms are being deeply focused on your baby to the point that you think everyone needs to know everything, and you are unable to find the on button for your brain’s censorship function. Because of this, you find yourself telling everyone about your most personal experiences regarding your body and your baby.
It’s verbal, and sometimes visual, diarrhea… about poop, or pee, or blood, or milk, or vomit; it won’t be contained, no matter how private a person you were before baby. I swore I’d never be one of those new moms we all know, ‘You should see how far he pees!,’ ‘She puked all over her car seat, it took me an hour to get her clean, there was curdled milk coming out her nose,’ ‘He pooped so much it soaked his onesie, his outfit, and his sheet, I gave up after a dozen wipies and gave him a tubby.’ Or better, with social media, the pictures! Being pro-breastfeeding, and a pro at it, nursing my littlest one now, does great things for my dresses… hello milk cleavage!, I’m always sharing pictures bragging how my babies are growing chunky and happy. Then there’s the pictures of ‘OMG, look how gross dried up week-old belly button stumps are.’
When random old ladies come up to comment ‘oooh, a little one,’ I just can’t help myself in replying, ‘yep, I grew this little life, only took three minutes to push him out, and he nurses like Cookie Monster at a Mrs. Fields, but wow, does he go through a lot of diapers, it’s like hunter’s orange, I’ll never eat kraft mac and cheese again.’
If it’s not about my baby, it’s about me, and I know my friends who have all had at least two babies understand, but there I was at my baby’s baptism party, lifting my t-shirt in the kitchen to show off my new slimming tank top with built-in lightly foam-lined wireless support bra. My stomach muscles had a bit of separation, (things they don’t warn you about, that and massive post-partum hair loss) and this little miracle tank does all the work of a belly band but look, it’s great for nursing too, I don’t even fall out when I bend over which for my milk-filled breasts is amazing, and it’s super comfy, and only $22 at Target.
Then there’s the how did everything go question, and really, why would people ask, because shhhbloooop, there comes another fifteen-minute explosion from me about all the gore and beauty of a new life coming out of my nether regions, highlighted with words like clot, gush, skid marks, poop, and worse.
But you know what moms? It’s okay. You did grow this new life, and life is messy, and you’re at the center of the best and messiest. I swore I would keep the details to myself this time, because four, Wow, but it’s okay to share, though I admit if you can, it’s better kept with friends and family not random grocery clerks who are still in high school (or maybe it will serve to support them once they become mothers, or maybe it will scare them into remaining chaste. As a mom of a pre-pubescent girl, I’m okay with that!), because moms need to be there for each other. It’s not easy, it’s not perfect, it’s okay to doubt and worry and wonder, and that’s why when a mom flings out random verbal poo about the mess of life, you can share your own mess to let her know she’s not alone. New moms, you’re right to be obsessed with maintaining this new helpless bundle of prolific fluid-producing love, so go on, let loose, complain about the mess that got so bad you needed to shower with your baby, or how you were so tired you gave up and threw out the outfit even though you’re normally a strict recycler, or how bad the rash is, or how many nursing pads you’ve gone through in a day. You deserve a pass on meeting social expectations, because life is messy and we all live it, and at least babies are cute (even when they puke on your face).
Rachel Vallance is a mother to four exuberant children and has dedicated herself to stay home with them, sharing her love of gardening, baking, and crafting. She holds a degree in social sciences and frequently travels with her family to explore the crazy wondrous variety of cultures, especially those found near tropical beaches.
She is the author of Sun Catcher, an apocalyptic tale of surrealism and optimism, and has recently released the second novel in the series, Sun Struck. Her novels are available on Amazon, under her pen name R.M. Vallance. Check them out HERE.
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