Partum Me?! Now I get it!

I’d just like to apologize to all the moms I’ve sneered at for having a kid with snot all over his face, or food all over his shirt (or in his hair, as is Charlie’s preference), or for partially ignoring said child as he fusses at a table in a restaurant just so you can finish one darn sentence, or for being late because the kid waited until you were walking out the door to poop and then waited until you’d changed him to throw up everywhere.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I thought you were just willfully letting Ms. Snotface walk around like that when really you wiped her nose 10 million times that day as she writhed and screamed in your lap.  And then as soon as you walked away she miraculously found about five more gallons of mucus, and spread it to every body part as she saw fit.  I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that when a 10-month old is done with his meal, his way of communicating that to you is to dip both sleeves in the messiest portion of the leftovers and then toss what’s left on the floor.  I’m sorry that I failed to understand that no amount of restaurant food broken into tiny little bites is enough to entertain a kid for more than .2 seconds before frustrated screaming ensues.  And I’m sorry that you now have to tell me to arrive somewhere a half hour before I really need to be there because I am the one who is always late even though I used to be the one who was always early.  Please don’t hate me for judging you.  I was young.  I was foolish.  I didn’t know.

And now…I know.

There are some things that I’m not sorry about, though.  I’m not sorry for scoffing at the mom who cradles her newborn baby in her arms while puffing on a cigarette.  I’m not sorry for raising my eyebrow at the mother who just giggles when her four year old screams, “You are such a dumbass!!” at her in a crowded public place.  I’m not sorry that I will probably be the mom who gives a lecture to any person who blows off aggressive behavior with statements like “boys will be boys!”  And I’m definitely not sorry that I visibly roll my eyes and purse my lips every time I see a child in the backseat of a car without a car seat/booster and especially without a seat belt at all!

I’d like to give one of those standing ovations that starts with a single slow clap and escalates into thunderous applause for all the single parents out there because I have no freakin’ clue how you do this alone.  It must involve magical pixies.  Even if you have a partner, I don’t know how folks do it when that partner is involved any less than 50/50.  My husband and I went from being fairly aloof and disorganized to a tag-teaming, pre-planning, compromising machine once Charlie came into our lives.  I’m waiting for the night when we literally tag in/out in a slow motion moment with a huge exaggerated high five and some sort of “Eye of the Tiger” soundtrack blasting in the background.  The last couple weeks have been tough as Charlie was sick and we both had some major deadlines looming at work.  We found ourselves sniping at each other for the first time in our relationship.  Ever.  But somehow we just figured it out.  We apologized.  We vowed to continue supporting each other in this insanity called parenting and went on with our days.  I did that.  Me!  The woman who would argue over which way to put a spoon in the little holder in the dishwasher for days just to be right, before becoming a mom.  Of course now I channel that obsessive energy into planning weeks worth of dinners in advance and scrutinizing every cell of every Excel spread sheet I view at work, but hey, it’s progress.

What I’m trying to say here is that I get it.  You know how they say that twins develop their own secret language that only the two of them can understand?  I think it might be like that for parents.  No offense to those without kids, of course, but I don’t think this is a language you want to know anyway.  It’s one of sideways glances, understanding nods, and virtual pats on the back for being able to deal with the utter pandemonium that sometimes erupts with little kids.  I know I know, lots of people have kids and survive parenting, we’re not doing anything new or monumental by bearing children and raising them.  But there are lots of people out there who do other hard things like go to medical school, climb mountains, and fight wars for their countries.  The fact that many people do one thing doesn’t make it any less difficult.

It’s all worth it in the end.  I get that, too.  It’s especially worth it when we get home at the end of the day and take a quick rest on the couch where Charlie switches off between sweetly resting his head on my chest and then popping his head up to look me in the eye and babble something that I can’t yet understand but that I’m sure involves thanking me for loving him more than anything in the world.  So yeah, all you disheveled, tired, stressed out parents out there – I get it.

I get you.  High-fives.