Why You’ll Never See Me in a Bikini

Some people think they’re funny, and other people can’t help it.  Ginny is the latter, and she tickles my funny bone often @ Praying to Darwin.

Brian was nice enough to ask me to guest blog for him. He wanted a piece on the changes brought about by parenthood. And for the next two days, I had that damn David Bowie song running through my head. “Ch-ch-ch-changes”. Catchy and annoying, all at once. So I had no choice but to finally stop procrastinating, and just write the thing, if only to stop that bloody song.

I have two children. A son who’s five and a half, and a daughter who’s two and a half. They’re awesome. They’re funny. They’re mean. They’re imaginative. They’re lazy. They’re little enigmas, and they’re just a little different every day. I love them like crazy. But there can be no doubt that I am not the same person I was 6 years ago. The changes were gradual, some small, some enormous. And some of them are weird. If you’ve ever been to my blog, you know I loves me a good list, so without further ado, the changes children have wrought upon me:

The Good:

1. I now possess incredible foresight. “Can I have a cookie?” If I give you the cookie, you’ll leave me alone, and I’ll get 5 minutes of peace. But you won’t eat lunch. Then I’ll try to get you to eat something. You’ll be late for your nap. You won’t sleep long enough. I won’t get you to bed on time tonight. Which means your dad & I won’t get to bed at our normal time. Which means there will be no “Mommy & Daddy Time” (if you know what I mean) (and you shouldn’t know what I mean, because we’re pretty stringent about locking the bedroom door). If I give you that cookie, Daddy & I will be in rotten moods tomorrow. So, no, you can’t have a cookie.
2. Nine times out of 10, I can catch puke before it hits the floor. I’ve been gifted with cat-like reflexes.
3. My eyesight got better. Most women’s eyes get worse. I’m not sure what happened. Maybe my eyes just knew we wouldn’t be able to afford silly things like glasses for Mommy. I don’t know. But I’m 20/20 for the first time since I was a kid, so that’s cool.
4. I don’t get sick. Well, not much. If the rest of the family is down with the flu, there’s a good chance I’m fine. Actually, I feel shaky for about a half hour. Then I just kind of get over it, and continue on. Seriously, I should be in a medical journal somewhere.

The Bad:

1. I’m even LESS patient. I thought having kids was supposed to help with that. It hasn’t.
2. My memory is taken up with child related stuff. I know that the red Wiggle is Murray. I couldn’t tell you the capital of Rwanda anymore. I know that my son was 22 ½ inches long when he was born. I don’t remember how to make a Long Island Iced Tea.
3. I read a quote (I can’t remember who said it; see previous item) to the effect that parenthood is like trying to walk around with your heart on the outside of your body. It is. I will never, ever trust as easily as I did before I became a parent.
4. I never knew what I wanted to do with my life, before I had kids. Now, I think of at least one thing a day I “can’t” do, because of the kids.

The Ugly:

1. I nursed two babies for a combined total of 17 months. My boobs are two tube socks full of sand.
2. Right after I gave birth the first time, I commented that my stomach looked like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. Shockingly, having a second baby didn’t make it any better.
3. I am pretty sure I will never feel rested again. You could pack for a year-long cruise (formal dress dinners with the ship’s captain included) in the bags under my eyes.
4. I might as well dress in striped shirt, because I’ve turned into a referee. Yesterday’s 45 minute argument: which one of my kids, in the event of a tornado, should be left upstairs, in charge of “kicking” said storm into submission. No, seriously. At about the 20 minute mark, I stopped admiring their creativity. At the 30 minute mark, I started making a loud humming sound, in a vain attempt to stop hearing them. At the 40 minute mark, I fantasized that their tongues fell out. Rather unbecoming for a mother, I think.

A friend of mine compared the experience of having children to military boot camp. You get there, all cocky, long-haired, full of ideals. Then those little drill sergeants break you down, and build you back up, into a completely different person.

And, so far, I feel like it’s a better person.