Dirty Little Secrets

(Author’s Note: The following entry was written back in October during what I refer to as “Snowmaggedon”. Being without power for 7 days straight allowed for many hours of thought and writing, but actually being able to type, edit and post said writing took a little more time…)

A few weeks back I was hanging out with my good friend, Jenn. She, too, is a “new mom of two”. We first met back when our firstborns were, well, first born. Her eldest is 3 days younger than Caiden and her newest is 2 weeks older than Ryan. She is, in many ways, my mirror image when it comes to parenting and without her friendship I would truly be lost in the stormy seas of toddler tantrums, endless diapers, and late-night feedings. During this visit, we were sharing our “secrets” regarding the new “norms” in our homes. Usually, I would keep these facts quiet and to myself—feeling guilty and ashamed of what my current reality is—but with Jenn, there is no shame, nor hiding. Hell, it’s not even like I share it in confidence (although I know she wouldn’t be shouting my inadequacies from the rooftops if I had asked her to keep them hush, hush). With Jenn, I can just be myself and, in turn, learn that I am not alone on this ever-changing journey of motherhood. After talking with her for a few hours about how crazy and exhausting life now seems with the “simple” addition of another tiny human being, I now feel empowered by the raw honesty of it all and want to share all of my “dirty little secrets” with the world in the hopes of letting other moms feel normal. So here it goes…

DLS #1: I hate breastfeeding. So many outlets of society make this act look easy, loving, and even beautiful at times. Like it is a walk in the park and one of the best things about being a mom. YUCK. Not for me. Perhaps I lack some sort of maternal gene, but I find it to be hard, painful, time-consuming, and messy. The sensation of “letdown” feels like I am being punched in the chest by a set of brass knuckles encrusted with thumbtacks and no one ever warned me that my mammary glands could rival Ol’ Faithful once my bra was removed. (TMI? Sorry.) Everyone around me tells me that it will get easier and, although it has, I have yet to have that “Ahhhh, what precious time this is” moment. This less than desirable attitude towards breastfeeding makes me feel insensitive, nonmaternal, and downright terrible at times and I am sure that there will be some women out there who read this and think that there is something wrong with me. But regardless of anyone’s’ opinions (including my own), I will continue to stick with it because I do have a healthy, happy baby boy as a result of this feeding method. And it’s cheap.

(Ryan at 8 weeks old. His right eye gets all squished up when he's smiles just like mine does.)

DLS #2: I have a new babysitter. His name is Elmo. Since the arrival of my “itty bitty”, my big kid now lives in front of the television. It seems as though it is the only way that I can ensure that he is safe and in one spot while I get stuff done. I try to justify the endless hours in front of TV by saying that, “Hey, at least it’s educational programming”, but it never fails to make me feel like a parent who can’t balance her new responsibilities. I have every intention, day after day, to be the mom who wakes up, grabs her cup of coffee, feeds and changes her baby, then wakes, feeds, and changes her eldest, runs off to the gym, does the dishes, throws in a load of laundry, runs errands, and comes home to read books, bake cookies, and complete an afternoon craft with her eldest. But then 7am rolls around (aka: “REALITY”) and Ryan begins fussing because HE. NEEDS. FOOD. NOW!!!!!!! Then he proceeds to spit it all back up on me. Caiden runs downstairs and starts to take out every item in the Tupperware cabinet, the dog is barking at the FedEx guy, the phone is ringing off the hook, my breakfast is burning, milk is spilling, diapers need changing yet again, Caiden starts to chase after the dog with a broom, the sink is overflowing with crap, and God damnit I STILL haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet! So enters my good friend, Elmo, who can captivate my toddler’s attention for at good hour while teaching him his ABCs—in Spanish nonetheless—and I can at least pacify Ryan, rinse the baby residue out of my hair, and maybe vacuum the first floor. (On a side note, I sat nursing Ryan the other day with Caiden next to me in a “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Induced-Coma” thinking, “Hmmmm, this certainly gives a new meaning to the term ‘boob tube’…”)

(Evidence of a typical morning in the Manley household including PJs, Mom's bed, and an episode of "Curious George")

DLS #3: I let my baby sleep snuggly in the Boppy at night. I could defend this practice by saying that I do so in order to keep him at an incline after eating so that his acid reflux is kept to a minimum. This fact is, indeed, true, however my real intentions rest in the reality that it also aids in me scoring a few extra hours of uninterrupted sleep. I am sure that the American Association of Pediatrics and SIDS gurus would be cringing at the airing of this tidbit of information, but seeing that I am usually solo for the night shift in my house and still have to run the day shift here, I see no problem in having the babe-o sleeping away soundly in his U-shaped pillow/my saving grace (thinking that he is being held) in order to provide us BOTH with a good night’s rest.

DLS #4: My kids usually aren’t out of their pajamas until lunchtime. You just read about what mornings are like here. Do I need to paint a clearer picture nor explain this further?

DLS#5: I am not usually out of my pajamas until—well, ever. (Author's Note: Since the original composition of this post, I have now graduated to getting dressed--after lunchtime, of course-- but it's usually in yoga pants and oversized sweatshirts.)

DLS#6: The interior of my home looks as though it could qualify for FEMA Relief despite all efforts to keep up with the laundry, dishes, and my eldest child. I seriously forgot about how much dirty laundry a 10-pound human being could produce. Granted, this is a child who suffers from GERD (gastro esophageal reflux disease), but hoooooolllllly moooollllly is there a lot of washing to do! And loads of his laundry are quite deceiving. New/Prospective Mothers Beware: One load of cute little baby clothes is actually the work of the Devil in disguise. When it reemerges from the dryer you will find yourself in a never-ending barrel of onesies to be folded and teeny tiny socks to be matched up. Keeping up with the dishes in the sink is an issue because we are in that phase of life with a new baby that involves everyone eating in shifts so there is always a plate to be rinsed and a pot to be scrubbed. (Thank God for our dog who is a gem when it comes to “pre-treating” all the dirty dishes. She is also like a furry little Hoover when it comes to flying Cheerios and exploding juice boxes. So for Mollie, I am thankful.)

(Woof.)

DLS #7: I sometimes resent the fact that my husband can go to work every night. I am completely blessed to be in a situation in which we can afford to have me be a stay-at-home mom and I am incredibly grateful to my hardworking hubby for all that he does outside of our home. In addition, there is not much that he can do here during the nights. Caiden is fast asleep and doesn’t need our attention and I am the only one able to feed Ryan. The resentment lies in the fact that he can go out, interact with other adults, use his education, provide for his family, and just simply get out of this house ALONE. Perhaps “resent” is a poor choice of word. “Envy” is probably more appropriate, but nonetheless, it is something that I have embattled now for 2 ½ years now and is a feeling that is a bit more exacerbated due to being run-ragged and reeking of spit up.

I know that some, if not all, of these dirty little secrets are shared within the hearts and minds of other moms out there. Perchance you are one of those parents who can say aloud, “Oh my God, ME TOO!” Either way, I hope that by venting these concerns and truths about my own life, those struggling with the difficult adjustment of a newborn coupled with their own sense of perfectionism can give themselves a little slack knowing now that they are certainly not unaccompanied on this journey. Good parents are not always going to be dressed to the nines by noontime and happy-go-lucky 24/7. Good parents are honest and use that honesty united with a bit a humor to learn, move on, and laugh at themselves. If you share one of these dirty little secrets with me, you are not a bad parent. And you, more importantly, are not alone.