Adventures In Mommy Land

When woman gets pregnant, her friends and other related matriarchs tell her how wonderful children are, how fullfilled they make will make her, how exciting it is to be pregnant and just when they have her hooked, they ask she intends on having a baby of her own. The second she pees on the stick and gets two lines, the journey of discovery of how incredibly full of shit the other women are begins.

Omitting the horrors of what a woman goes through to have children is their way of assimilating naive, nubile young women into the stretchmarked, cellulite, sleep deprived hell that is being a "real woman". This is not to say that a woman who has never experienced pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood is not a real woman; however said experiences seem to get women into the physical state of what the masses define this as (i.e. not having the figure of a 16 year old) more quickly than middle aged gravity. I firmly believe Gene Rodenberry got his inspiration for the Borg characters by simple anthropological study of the conversion of college co-ed to flat/wide assed and wearing mom jeans that is a seeming right of passage. So, in the spirit of that, I am going to tell you what they don't tell you before you get knocked up.

Babies, while cuddly and adorable, cry. and puke. and poop...a lot. They like to sleep all day and party all night. By party I do not mean the keg parties a la freshman year of college; I mean gassy, farting, squirming, fussing, give me that damn boob right now mom i'm starving kind of party. Remember when you got to have sex on a wimb? Yeah, now there's a baby in between you, and somehow getting a solid 3 hours of sleep is more erotic that the best orgasm you ever had in your life. Take heart though; eventually the kid will be old enough for Blue's Clues and you can stock up on the dvd's to throw one in for him/her so that you and the manwhore can grab a quicky. That's a few years down the road though.

Babies like to take their diapers off and play in the contents. Let me just tell you about my own experience with this phenomenon. Like a good haus fraus, I was on my laptop doing my online banking, when a wretched aroma filled my delicate nostrils. I did not have a dog at the time, therefore the raw fecal smell could've only come from one origin. Looking down at my 11 month old son, I discovered not only had he taken his diaper off, he had finger painted in poo paint. The gooey brown-green artistry was all over him, all over my carpet, my walls and my curtains. Upon rushing to bathe him,I discovered I had no water because the city was working on the line. You have not lived until you have tried to clean a squirming giggling baby covered in caca with nothing to assist you but a box of wipes. Bear in mind, it took less than a minute for my adorable son to create such a disgusting masterpiece.

The fun does not stop with babies though. Babies grow up to become tantruming toddlers who love to head butt and throw themselves down in the middle of the grocery store. Take pity on the moms you pass experiencing this. Do not think, "if that were my kid, it would not be acting like that! I would....." Shut up; you don't have a kid. When you do, yes he/she will act like terrors in public and no, you likely won't do whatever disciplinary action you are fantasizing about in your child-free brain.

Toddlers also snoop, and get into everything. Nothing is off limits in the toddler mind. Dresser drawers, closets, boxes, everthing is fair game. They often bring their latest found treasure and say, "Mommy, what's this?" usually at a very inconvenient time. If you plan to have your family over, especially if it is your own parents, or your inlaws, make sure your bedroom is locked up tight and all feminine hygiene products are out of reach and out of sight. Toddlers climb; simply having something out of reach is not good enough. Do not put yourself in a position where your toddler is asking you what your bright pink, textured, 10 speed vibrator with clitoral stimulation is in the middle of Thanksgiving Dinner. While he/she pushes the buttons to change the vibrate speed and makes the gyrating tip rotate in the gspotless air; the sight is doubly horrifying. Not only is your child holding your sex toy, glance around the room. You will find that all eyes are mesmerized by the gyrating head of your fun time phallus.

Toddlers graduate to be school aged know it alls. Nothing will be a blow to your previously high IQ'd self esteem like having your kindergartner correct your speech syntax. Be prepared; once your child hits school age, you will discover the most annoying, repetitive songs known to man. Yes, they are learning tools, or so the kindergarten teachers say. I believe it's truely a plot to abduct the last vestiges of sanity a mother has The final straw before you start shrieking and clammoring for a roof top is throughout all the stages of your child's life, there will always be one constant: the bitches that talked you into believing that child rearing was the easiest job ever will always be there for you. I do not mean this as a supportive roll; au contraire.

They will always be there to tell you what you are doing wrong, how you are doing it wrong, while passive aggressively comparing your evil child to their perfect one to make them feel better about themselves as women. Again, take heart. Your child is not evil, their child is far from an angel.

Go to a playground sometime; it's the stomping ground for training little playahs. The playground is where they perfect the innocent act and rehearse it to the party in denial (their mother) while all the other bystanders, child and adult alike can plainly see that perfect angel kid is a pro at playing mommy. Said played mommy is most generally your child's room mother, which is an entirely different breed of mom. The room mom explaination and categorization is a topic for another day Motherhood, while fullfilling and there is nothing as wonderful as the smell of a newborn baby, watching your child sleep, and the pride that wells inside you when they learn something new, is not the easy task others make it out to be. With that I will end with: BEWARE THE POO PAINT!