In honor of my good friend M who just had her first child, a gorgeous baby boy. I hope I don’t scare her too much! Just know you can handle it all, mama, that’s the magic of motherhood.
1. Poop. And the fascination thereof. The questions. You’re at the grocery store innocently swiping your credit card, and suddenly he asks you very loudly so the cashier and bag boy and fellow shoppers can ALL hear, “Mama, why was my poop green today, but brown yesterday? And sometimes it has corn in it.” Oh, and skidmarks. Not the road-meets-tire kind. Go to the store, get a bar of Fels-Naptha, (also on Amazon) it’s a miracle worker with the skidmarks, for realz.
2. Pee. There’s so much pee. They don’t get the “aiming” thing for quite a while. In the beginning, you can guarantee yourself a good, spa-quality face wash if you don’t cover that thing. In the mornings now, I completely disrobe Ferris before putting him on the potty, that way he can just rinse off before breakfast. Bowie still goes sitting down. Because, well, why rush that mess. I’ll be dealing with it soon enough.
3. Snot. Boogers. They usually end up smeared on you, or the nearest surface. No matter where they are. Public bathroom stalls, the dinner table, the Starbucks counter, the shopping cart, the back of their brother’s shirt, the art museum wall.
4. Dirt. It’ll be on them about 2.5 seconds after you get them dressed in the morning. Just get used to it. Don’t send them to school in anything white. ANYTHING. Dirt just becomes a way of life. What’s that saying? Boy: noise with dirt on it. ‘Bout sums it up.
5. So that brings up the next one: noise. It’s loud. And I don’t know how they can sustain it for the hours that they do. Even their general dinner table chatter is just LOUD. And, sorry to say, they do not come with a volume button. Between the rocket ship blast offs, lightning-speed car races, screaming fights with each other, throwing heavy objects around the house (not through a window if you’re on of the lucky ones) and the overall just bumping and crashing into things, and the the wailing and crying that ensues. And in elementary school, life becomes a walking commentary. “Did you see that rock? It was shaped just like this tool I have in Minecraft. Hey, can I play Minecraft at home? Because there’s this [minecraft type building/weapon/person/what have you] that I just HAVE to make. I’ll do my homework super fast. Madeline said it wasn’t a lot of homework. Maybe we can go to the park. Hey, are we going to the beach this weekend? Maybe Cal can come.” Just go out and get the biggest, fattest jar of ibuprofen the Costco guy can legally sell you.
6. Sand. Take off their shoes outside, before entering the house. TRUST.
7. Matchbox and Hot Wheels. They multiply overnight when no one’s looking. They’re often left in a precarious place where a 6 a.m. bleary-eyed mom or dad will slip on them. And you’re required to know where The Red One is at all times. Not just a red one, THE red one, the chosen one, the Messiah of their 1,000 piece car collection. (Which changes daily, of course.) And until you have
guessed which one it is found it, you’re the worst parent ever.
8. Legos. This I know is a multi-gender issue, along with the little cars. But, when you’ve got two kids of the same gender, they tend to get the same presents, only slightly modified. One gets a rocket ship lego building kit, one gets a race car building kit. And when they are inevitably destroyed, and the pieces get mixed up, let the fist fights and lego hurling begin. (And that’s how it happens that you step on one in the middle of the night and the pain makes you wish you were in hell instead.) I know I’m the no-sharing mom and everything, but I do bend the rules for this one. I try so hard to stick to the plan. “You can have that one very special orange piece which is essential to the integrity of the structure you’re building, when you’re brother is done with it.” But every once in a while frustration kicks in and I just say, “Give it to your brother. Do it. Give it now. Just do it.” Forced sharing, shame on me.
9. Penises. Now, I know you have to be semi-familiar with them to have landed yourself in this boat. But, just get used to hearing the word a lot. And having questions asked that you can’t answer. And watching them twist and bend and stretch in ways you never knew they could. There will be questions too about where’s mommy’s penis? What happened to it? Did you do something to lose it? Did you just never grow one? Any Puritan attitudes you had toward genitalia in general goes out the window completely.
10. The phrase, “Wow, you sure do you have your hands full!” They’ll say this when you’ve got one boy, but when you’ve got more than one, whoo boy. You laugh sheepishly and say, “yep, I sure do.” When what you really want to do is scream in their face, “Good, I’m so glad you can see that! Now would you mind cleaning up that pasta the one just spilled, and grabbing that gallon of milk the other one is about to throw while I just try to GRAB A GODDAMNED BAG OF FROZEN CORN, FOR F#$%’s SAKE?!” And sometimes you might get that ballsy person that asks, “So, are you going to try for a girl?” Go ahead and slap them right across the face.
11. Milk, bread, cheese, milk, Goldfsh, yogurt, milk, cereal, did I already say milk? Have your job directly deposit your paycheck to the grocery store’s account. Though they be little, they eat like they’ve been starved for a week. Five times a day. And then ask for more.
12. But, the love. Oh, nothing I can say here will prepare you for the love you’ll have for them, despite all that stuff above. Like your heart is just split right open, and their little hearts are nestled inside. When they hug you and kiss you and tell you they love you, you are a puddle on the floor. Every damn time. Never gets old. Thank goodness for sons. Thank goodness for daughters. Thank goodness for parenthood.