Happy Mother's Day To Me

I hadn't given much thought to it until John brought it up.

"Oooooooooooooooooo! Your first Mother's Day is coming up!"

So as the big day approached, my once nonexistent excitement gained momentum. The day before Mother's Day, I was super excited about our Mother's Day plans. My mom was going to have a brunch at her house and then our little family was going to go out to dinner. Lovely.

On Saturday, my mom was supposed to babysit Dally. Never missing an opportunity to show off the glorious wonder that is her grandson, she asked if she could take him to a little Mother's Day celebration for my grandma, my aunts, and other miscellaneous Mexicans. Here's some backstory. My mom is Mexican and therefore celebrates el Dia de las Madres on May 10, whenever the hell the day may land - which happened to be the Saturday before the Mother's Day for the country to which I swear allegiance.

I dressed my boy up in his tatoo art "Mommy" shirt and sent him on his way.

When I picked him up later that nght, I asked my mom what time we should come by tomorrow. She said, "Ay, I want to sleep in tomorrow." The subtext indicated there was to be no brunch.

It turns out she was all Mother's Dayed out.

I think she sensed my disappointment because she called me at the crack of dawn to invite us over, in our PJs, to have an improvised breakfast. Having nowhere else to go, we obliged.

Later that day, I realized John planned nothing and had nothing to give me. NOTHING. I carried his child for nine months. And when the kid came out, he was actually great looking. And I got nothing.

This really sucks because our nanny, Norma, went out of her way to do something special for my first Mother's Day. It involved hand-tracing and a photo shoot. There's a reason I love that woman more than most of my blood-relatives.

Later in the afternoon, as I continued to wallow in my self-pity, something horrible dawned on me. I had to go into the office the next day. GOOD GOD! People were sure to ask me what I did for Mother's Day! What John gave me for Mother's Day! And I would have to say "Nothing." What a loser.

So then I said this to John:
"You better go get me a present. I'm not going to show up at work tomorrow and say you didn't get me anything for Mother's Day. I don't want you to look like an asshole."

He made some lame excuse saying he had to go to Home Depot and when he came back, he had a nicely wrapped present for me and a box of (dark) Godiva chocolates. Dark, which is key because this means he really felt like an ass. Usually, he just grabs whatever, and whatever is usually milk, and I hate milk chocolate. But the biggie was the Magic Bullet. I've been wanting this thing forever but he said it was stupid. Not so stupid when he was desperate for a gift.

Like a little kid, once I got my Magic Bullet I forgot all about what a mean and evil man my Baby Daddy was. I ended the night making myself a rather delicious smoothie. Two words: AWE SOME.

And by the way... Being my first Mother's Day, I would have thought my dad would call to wish me a happy day. He didn't. He called a few days later and I said, "Hey thanks for calling me on Mother's Day."

"Oh my God, I forgot you were a mother!"

This was after he asked how the baby was doing.

Out of Hibernation

So my kid is approaching the big CINCO. Five months in the world. I still look at him and am in disbelief that he's all mine. I often look at him and think, "This my baby. THAT'S SO WEIRD." But I am constantly reminded that he's mine by what a flippin'awesome kid he is. And why is he flippin' awesome? Here's the short list.

1. He sleeps twelve hours a night, and he's been doing so since Diciembre. Babywise, baby.
2. He's strong but not creepy strong like Richard Sandrak.
3. He cracks up, and I mean CRACKS up, when I play rough with his mobile.
4. He pretty much only gets bent when he's got a burp. He's handling teething like a champ.
5. He is GORGEOUS. I constantly compare him to other babies. I feel sorry for them.

Why "out of hibernation"? For the most part, I was in this daze for the past few months. Having to be selfless all the time is super exhausting. But I'm learning to cope.

Forgive me if I'm not a believer

I just read this piece about how during pregnancy all these people volunteer to babysit and when the little booger finally comes into the world, people head for the hills, or the casino. This makes me feel better for believing that my mom is full of crap. She talks a good game. "I need to get a crib for the house." "I'm going to put up some baby decor on the walls." "I need to buy out Babies 'R' Us so that the baby has everything he needs here." She has somehow managed to convince herself that she will sacrifice her super cool life to take care of "our baby" as she calls him. I say, emphatically, "YEAH RIGHT."

My mom has way more of a life than I do. Her job can be likened to the commander-in-chief of a small nation. So even if her thriving social life went on hiatus, she still has her professional obligations that make it impossible to get a hold of her before 7pm (and that's if I'm lucky). Therefore, I am skeptical that my dear mother will actually step up to the plate when John and I want to go to chicken wing night or check out the new Denzel movie.

A few other friends have also volunteered their super nanny services, but I don't believe them. Not that I'm bothered by this. Just as I never offer to help people move - in fact I make it clear that I DON'T help people move - I never offer to help take care of children. After all, children are rude and dirty and cry babies. If I have to put up with any of those qualities, I better be permitted to scold, bathe, and pacify with controlled substances (joking, people). The only way you can do that stuff while avoiding any kind of awkwardness is if that kid belongs to you. So let's just say I'm saving myself for my own little monster. It's karmic.

Oh, it's also that I won't trust anyone with my first-born. The second kid will be a different story...

If I'm glowing, it's because I'm on FIRE

Who the hell LIKES being pregnant? Your body turns to shit. You can't have a martini. Assholes judge you for drinking Diet Coke. I'm so sick of answering the old, "Are you planning to breastfeed?" Why do people care? They won't be personally responsible if my boy doesn't get the IQ points to get him into Harvard. They're not going to be the ones getting up in the middle of the night to deal with ear infections. And they're certainly not going to be paying out of their own pockets for the OH SO EXPENSIVE FORMULA. (Jesus fucking Christ, if one more person bitches about the cost of formula... What the hell? Is bringing an actual human being into the world supposed to be free? It costs money to feed me. Should it not cost money to feed my kid?)

I walked six miles yesterday and it was like I wasn't even pregnant. Like the baby didn't even care. Like he's all, "Six miles? So what? I don't care. I'm going to hang out longer. I'm going to stay in until they force me out in October."

I'm trying to keep a cool head about this because thinking about it only makes it worse. It probably wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't so fucking hot. This ridiculous heat is making me extremely unproductive. All the stuff that I need to take care of is in the hottest places in my house. I need to do work in my office. Too fucking hot. I need to clean my office. Too fucking hot. I especially need to clean out the garage. Too fucking hot. We are slaves to our bedroom. All we can do is hang out in the bedroom with the air con at full blast.

I am in a crabby mood because, in addition to this heat, I had a gross lunch today.

Since John is still taking his nap and I'm bored, I'm going to keep ranting. You want to open yourself up to a world of judgement? Go ahead and have a kid. EVERYONE will judge you. I do. I judge parents all the time. I think mothers who don't have their children on schedules are stupid. I think mothers who quit having a life because of motherhood are even stupider. And don't even get me started on those fuckers who "love being pregnant." But don't worry. You can be sure that I'll get mine. I will be judged in kind for being selfish, uncaring, crass, etc. But once my kid starts developing into this human being who is smart, independent, thoughtful, helpful, and awesome like his pops, I will have the last laugh.

I could go on about post-partum flabby bellies, the destruction of a sex life, and how I am totally going to use my kid as an excuse to blow off lame social obligations but John just woke up.

Time to get a decent meal.

4, 3, 2, 1...

Four weeks to go. It's weird because now I know a few more people who are knocked up (my college roommate for Pete's sake!) and asking me for advice. What do I know about anything? I'm only partially psychic.

So where are we at? Well, stretch marks have invaded but the general public doesn't get to see those. Could be worse I guess. My belly may be gross but after watching hundreds of A Baby Story episodes, I've definitely seen way worse. My skin, however, is fantastic. (I hope I'm not speaking too soon.) I heard that you get this funky skin and dark spots and all kinds of horrors. I'm pretty sure I have the same skin I had ten months ago. And for that, I rejoice.

The most curious development is that I have conceded to John's wishes for A/C. I don't know if it's this heat wave or the baby's really cooking or what. But I've spent the last two nights sleeping in John's office - the only room with air con. I can no longer bear to sleep in my own bed.

Yesterday we did our Labor and Delivery tour where I learned of access to a DVD/VCR player in the delivery room. This is fantastic news because I plan to watch The Karate Kid around the clock until this boy comes out. Woohoo.

WAY Before Me

Let's be honest. My chances of failing at this parenting thing are pretty good. It requires a selflessness that I just can't seem to reconcile with. I'll need to be more responsible and considerate. It'll require a discipline that has escaped me since about the time I was six. And, of course, the words I constantly hear over and over and over are Jackie Kennedy's: "If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much." Fucking great. I've never cared for the late Mrs. Kennedy and now she haunts me with what seems to be an undeniable truth.

Here is how I am already failing as a mother:

1. Sometimes, I forget to take my prenatal vitamin. When I do remember, I am sometimes too lazy to get up and take it.

2. I still drink Diet Coke regularly.

3. I just got highlights. Unsatisfied with the results, I will probably go back to the salon to get more highlights.

4. I decided to re-decorate my bedroom first before starting to work on the nursery.

5. I think I am developing a deep love affair with cheesecake.

6. I never gave up deli meats and I think I eat a corndog every other day.

7. My arguments for not breastfeeding are purely self-serving.

8. There's so much to do to get ready for our new dude but I'd rather watch TV instead.

9. On the top of my post-partum to-do list is "Enjoy a fabulous martini."

10. I still hate sleeping on my left side.

Oh I could go on and on. I don't drink enough water, I should exercise more, I need to put more money away for the kid's college instead of buying myself a new pair of shoes, etc.

Will I ever learn to put the little guy way before me? Does one give birth to that instinct along with the placenta? Quien sabe.

This Week's Crisis

Have I ever been so neurotic in all my life? Dubious.

This week's crisis stems from my super fabulous bachelorette getaway weekend in Phoenix. (No, I'm not the bachelorette. I'm still a traditional girl and I think it's nice to be married and THEN have the kids.) But my homie Chrissy is getting hitched so in a backwards-ass bachelorette party, she treated her three friends (I know, right?) to this spectacular getaway at this spa resort in Phoenix. One of our party, Joyce, is a doctor. She made some remark that I shouldn't be sleeping on my back because it'll be pressing down on important arteries. Meanwhile, I was thinking I was super great because I had weened myself off of sleeping on my stomach. Furthermore, of course I take this piece of advice to DOOM and GLOOM proportions, thinking I am killing myself and my child.

So now I've spent this week trying to train myself to sleep on my side. My LEFT side, because that's the best way for the baby to get blood and nutrients and all the life he sucks out of me. (Does this mean that I have been eating spinach in vain???) Holy shit, sleeping on your side is the most goddamn uncomfortable thing I have had to contend with throughout this whole pregnancy so far. It has made sleep this week a nightmare. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. If I can't sleep on my back, or my stomach, can I sleep sitting up? I think that would be way more comfortable than my side.

I know, I'm such a baby. I'll keep trying...