Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Don't give up your independence unless it feels so right...

As I've mentioned on here before, I was an active member of a sorority while in college.  Stop laughing.

After moving into the house my sophomore year, I quickly befriended Erin, a fellow pledge class member and we went about embarking on the deep sort of friendship afforded to me in my sorority days.

One of drinking and debauchery, of course.

Along with another girl we affectionately called "Alien," Erin and I were roommates for a semester.  I honestly can't think of a single memory from that year that doesn't somehow involve Erin or Alien or both, and the fun that would always follow when we would hang out.  Thank God for the Internets, or we would have lost complete contact when I transferred a year later.

Erin is one of the many non-moms who read my blog.  One of the many who I am slowly and single-handedly scaring out of motherhood.  (You're welcome, by the way.)  I asked her a few weeks ago to tell me exactly what scares her about being a mother.  Her response?  Had my spitting coffee out all over the monitor and letting a little pee out.  Oh, what's that?  You didn't know that childbirth may leave you with limited control of your bladder? 

Well congratulations, you do now.




[Passages that look like this are my interjections to Erin's thoughts on motherhood.  For a non mom?  She is SPOT. ON.]

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Motherhood. What an enriching, inspiring and truly unique facet to so many women’s lives. To be one of the many called “mom” can no doubt only be described as an honor and a privilege. I’ve been asked to share my views on this amazing transformation from simply “woman” to “mother” and I believe I can pinpoint my views in two succinct words:
Fucking. Terrifying.
(…oh. Am I not supposed to curse? Is this one of those things? Too bad. Non-mom is in charge now. *swigs wine*)
Hi. I’m Erin. I’m not a mother. I’m pretty certain I never will be. Why? Well, I’m sure many of you reading this will never be able to wrap your head around why I and my fellow empty-wombers are fairly certain we’ll never be holding your title. Here's my attempt to explain.
Childbirth is SCARY
Yours truly here may or may not have, at one point in her life (OK, many points), compared a baby growing inside of a woman to a “gloppy, alien-devil mix waiting to tear me apart.” What can I say? I have a way with words. I’m aware there are magical medical advancements to make you feel only a fraction of the pain of a natural childbirth, but I’m even more horrified of the after-effects. The fact that *that* comes out of *there* with rips and tears [Wait, do you mean “tear” as in rhymes with “year” or tear as in rhymes with “where”?  Nevermind.  Both are appropriate.] and poop…holy balls. Let’s put it this way: Watching the birth scenes of “16 and Pregnant” scares me more than any Chainsaw Massacre in Texas could.  [This is really okay.  EVERYTHING about 16 and Pregnant should scare the ever-loving crap out of you.]
Sleep Deprivation
I don’t function with less than 6 hours of sleep. I can barely work my BlackBerry, put on a pair of pants or properly spell my name, let along take care of another human being, without sleep. I’ve heard moms tell tales of their bundle of joy waking up every hour on the hour and that make me want to curl up and hibernate in my bed for life.  I see myself, circa 4 a.m. holding my hysterical child up to my face crying “What?! What do you want?! WHY CAN’T YOU ACT LIKE A DAMN ADULT FOR ONCE?!!” I’d then I retreat to a corner and eat my hair. Maybe offer some to the baby to shut him up.
Grossness
Our dear, sweet New Mom On The Blog here recently wrote a blog post breezily mentioning something called “meconium.” My innocent little virgin mind had never heard this phrase, so I Google’d it like an idiot and was immediately assaulted with a few handy pictures. What kind of spawn of Satan crap is that? (Literally!?)  People deal with this and don’t hand the baby to some nuns to raise?  [Since you asked, I was going to give you the clinical definition, but after reading it even I am now really freaked out.  Let’s just say it’s the baby’s first poo and leave it at that.  The saving grace is that it seriously is odorless.  So, at least there’s that.]
Then there’s the weirdo 3-month-old-cocktail-wiener-looking umbilical cord nub that dries up and falls off…or whatever it does.  (And don’t get me started on the phrase “mucus plug.”)  [Vom.]
My stepsister, who is currently raising the two most kick-ass nephews in the world regaled me of stories from potty-training her older son. Something that happened? She got his poop all over her hair. Wait, I think I need to reiterate that: POOP IN HAIR. How does that even happen? How does one not set their hair on fire or immediately go GI Jane on themselves?

Public places will never be safe again
Kids bring on immediate embarrassment to everyday life.   My mom and aunt looooove to recount a story of my cousin Drew and I accompanying them to lunch at some fast food restaurant with picnic tables outside. There the four of us were, enjoying our lunch in the open air when a small group of bikers pulled up for some food.  Decked out in bandannas, earrings, leather jackets and chains, these guys were surely just minding their own business while the 4 year old monkeys a few tables down from them kept shrieking “PIRATES!!!! MOM, PIRATES, LOOK!”
I’ve also tried to Eternal Sunshine myself of a situation I had in Target a few years ago involving a “little person” employee and a toddler behind me excited about “THE ELF!!” about to help his mother out. Hoo boy.

Other kids
Fear of motherhood doesn’t end with small children. Ohhhh no.   Other kids can be such assholes to each other! Kids get made fun of for everything, whether it’s what they’re wearing, what they’re eating for lunch, how much money their family has, or how good they are at kickball. [I am already finding myself getting mad at other kids for not playing nice with TIH.  High school is going to be a BLAST.  I am so going to be that mom.]   An even worse fear? My kid being the douchebag. Let’s face it, any kid born to me and whatever man agrees to (or accidentally does) sperminate me would be raised by two sarcastic assholes. My offspring will never have a chance to be the sweet, quiet one. I can already hear principal voicemails asking me for a meeting over my hooligan force-feeding the teachers pet rocks from the playground

While I may sound like a child-hating monster, I want to assure you I’m not. I am simply in awe of every mom out there and the strength they have every day. Though I have truly never felt a need or desire to produce my own mini-me’s, I know some women want nothing more in life than to join the force of motherhood, and that’s a pretty brave thing. While you may never understand me and my ilk, I’d like to hope I shed a small glimmer of light on why what you do (while very selfless and loving) is petrifying to some of us.
Now pass the Chardonnay. I know we can agree on that one.

2 comments:

  1. Hahahaha... Fucking. Terrifying. That about sums it all up. I'm already a mom and it's still pretty damn terrifying. Thanks. Much needed laugh this morning.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is hilarious. I think Erin and I would get along.

    ReplyDelete

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