Formal Apology

I would like to formally apologize to all the people I know who are parents. I had been operating for most of my life under the assumption that you all tend to exaggerate things...not with malicious intent, of course, but it just didn't seem possible to me that being a parent was as hard or as complicated as you all said it was. I thought that surely there was some unwritten parent code that demanded you embellish your experiences.

I was wrong.

I am flabbergasted sometimes at how wrong I was. You guys weren't kidding. And here is why...

It is impossible to find reliable childcare. Friends offer, obviously with the best of intentions, and don't follow through ("I can come anytime next week and watch Owen for you for a few hours! It will be fun! Just wait to hear from me!!"...and that was 3 months ago.) You hire a nanny who thinks you should juggle your life to suit her needs ("Yeah, I can only work from 11pm-3:15am on Tuesdays because of my other job and my social life and my volunteer work with under-appreciated artists.") Family members make plans and big offers ("We would love to come spend the night with him so you two can have a night away!"); that never come to fruition. And hiring a babysitter is its own kind of nightmare. And here I was, totally naive, thinking all of those things; hiring a nanny, offers from friends and family, etc., meant that we would have someone to watch him once in a while. Silly me.

Another thing you all weren't joking about is the poop. Now I realize that this blog should be about more than poop, but come on. Let's be honest. Poop happens. And when you guys made jokes about the poopy diapers that shoot straight up the baby's back, I thought that was clearly not really what happens. I mean, sure, ok, maybe once or twice. But regularly? What's the point of a diaper, and all that lovely elastic, if it doesn't contain the poop? Diapers are made for that sort of thing, and I had total faith in their ability to handle all manner of poopy situation. Ha. That was a pipe dream. Every single time he has pooped for the last month is has managed to find a way to escape the confines of his diaper and travel north, toward his shoulder blades. So disgusting. And so surprising...

Sleep deprivation is another one of those things I need to apologize for not believing. Wow. You get a few nights, or even a whole week, where he sleeps through the night and takes a good nap in the morning and afternoon, and you think your sleep-life is going to get better, get back to normal. Nope. Just kidding. For every night he sleeps like a lamb there are 5 or 10 more he sleeps like a lion. And you have to find a way to function on 4 hours of sleep (and not 4 hours in a row, mind you...four hours total, spread out of a 9 hour attempt to sleep) every day for a month. And really, we can hardly call it functioning!

So when you're brian dead from lack of sleep, and facing carpal tunnel from wiping poop off his back, you still have to entertain him. Little did I trust the stories of how little time a stay-at-home parents has to his/herself. I mean, you lay the baby down on a play mat or a rug with some toys and a pacifier and they just make their own fun for an hour or so, right? And then you just plop them in a swing or bouncy seat and voila! Happy kid! Thus giving you hours of your day to do your taxes, bake bread, clean the bath tub, and paint your toe nails. Right...? Wrong. So very, very wrong. Little Mr. Fussy Pants wants you to PLAY with him! He wants you to talk to him and snuggle him some and move his little arms and legs, and give his toys creative voices and interesting monologues.  He wants you to describe the pages of the magazine he is shredding. He wants you to explain existentialism to him while bouncing him on your lap at high speeds. And he wants this to happen all...day...long...

So for these reasons, and many more I either have yet to discover or haven't got the time to write down, because nap time is officially over (sometimes I want to throw the baby monitor out the window, but you can't blame the messenger) I would like to reiterate my deep regret for not believing my fellow parents.

Please forgive me.