Keep Your Ice Skates Sharpened. You Just Might Be Called Upon to Impersonate a Figure Skater

In my last post I commented that parenthood changes your perspective on just about everything.  For example, a good's night rest means that of the three times that I got up to feed Jones in the middle of the night, it took no longer than an hour and he went right back down afterward, allowing me to get at least 6 hours of sleep (I'm looking forward to the day when that 6 hours isn't in chunks).  Other epiphanies I've had since becoming a mom:

1.  Fractions are important. 

I know everybody remembers studying fractions and learning how to add, subtract, multiply and divide, and I know that almost everybody uttered the words, "When am I ever going to use this in real life?"  The answer:  have a baby and feed him formula, and you'll learn real quick about the usefulness of fractions, and the usefulness of elementary school math in general.  Daily I stand over the sink and think to myself, "Okay, I need to make 8, 5 ounce bottles ... that's 40 ounces of formula.  It's one scoop of formula for every two ounces, so that would be 10 scoops.  Then I have to fortify it (to make it more caloric, since our goal is still for Jones to gain lots of weight and catch up) - that's 1/4 teaspoon for every ounce.  So, if I'm making 40 ounces, multiply that by 1/4, that's 10, so that's ..."  You see where I'm going with this.  When you're tired, this becomes extra challenging.


"Math makes my head hurt!"



2.  Three Men and a Baby had a lot of truths to it. 

For example, the scene where Peter is telling his "girlfriend" Rebecca about feeding the baby:  "It says, 'Feed - every 2 hours'.  Does that mean 2 hours from when I start or 2 hours from when I finish because I'm doing 2 hours from when I start and I'm feeding her all the time?!"  It can seem like that sometimes, and we're on a 3 hour schedule (for what it's worth, the answer to Peter's question is 2 hours from when you start), which occasionally goes to 4 hours, depending on what kind of day we're having. 

I have also lived out the scene where Jack takes a shower with the baby (not as icky on screen as it is in print).  In fact, I lived out that scene this very morning - I had popped Jones down onto the play mat in my bathroom while I took a shower.  When I get out, I noticed that he had spit up a little.  So I picked him up and took him over to our bed to lay him down and change his outfit.  It was at that moment that the little guy chose to finish spitting up, and it was a big one - projectile, going in all directions, including all down the front of me (remember, I was just out of the shower so, in the risk of giving everybody TMI, that means that I didn't have any clothes on ... which is really just as well, when you think about it), the front of him, and onto the part of the bed that I was standing near.  I thought about it for a minute, looked at me, covered in regurgitated baby formula (which smells about as awesome as you might think, being a milk product), looked at my baby, covered in formula and wailing (it was all over him - in his diaper, in his hair ... it was pitiful), and decided, "Well, necessity is the mother of invention.  What we both need is to be hosed off, and the best way I can think of to do that is the shower."  So I stripped him down, grabbed my recently discarded bath towel, and headed back to the shower with an extra passenger.  It actually went really well ... I think Jones liked it, really, and who doesn't like being clean?  So, he's currently in outfit number 3 on the day, and we've eaten our 4th bottle of the day, and I'm watching him to make sure this one doesn't come up as well (he's asleep in the swing at the moment), and the bedsheets and play mat are in the washing machine. 

I also like the scene where Michael turns to Peter and says, "I think she did a doodle and it's your turn to change her."  Peter replies, "I'll give you a thousand dollars if you'll do it."  I know that feeling.  Sometimes it seems like you just won't be able to take another dirty diaper, but you do, and of course it's fine. 

I think the last scene that I can think of that has been applicable to our lives recently is where Peter is reading aloud to Mary, and it's Sports Illustrated, a recap of a vicious boxing match.  Michael comes in and says, "What are you reading to her?"  Peter replies (in a sort of soft, gentle voice, the kind of voice you would use to read a bedtime story to a baby), "It doesn't matter what you read.  It's the tone you use.  Now where was I?  'The Champ began the next round like a man possessed."  I feel like that when I read aloud Harry Potter to Jones ... he has no idea about anything.  He does like the sound of my voice, though ... at least I think he does ...

3.  Absolutes are not your friend.

I actually feel like I have made an effort for quite some time now not to say anything along the lines of, "I always ..." or "I will never ..." or "My child always ..." or "My child will never ..." because this is a sure-fire way to guarantee that you or your child will not always whatever and that you and your child will definitely end up doing or saying whatever it is you swore you would never do or say.  I never wanted the baby to sleep in the bed with us, because I didn't want to get a bad habit started.  There have been occasions (although they are happening less and less frequently now, as Jones gets bigger and older) where, exhausted and at my wit's end, I put the baby in the Boppy Lounger, laid him in between me and Alan at the head of the bed, and we all went to sleep like that.  So, you know, I don't think I ever actually said, "I will never let my child sleep in the bed with me", but I was aiming toward that and now look at me.  This is also why I try not to say things like, "My child will never throw a temper tantrum in a restaurant."  Because I'm sure it will happen, no matter what preventative measures we take or how sweet we think our boy is, and because saying something like that guarantees it will happen at a time that makes it ten times worse (like, in front of the people who heard you declare that your child will never throw a temper tantrum in a restaurant, at a nice restaurant, where you are celebrating some milestone of some sort with lots of people around to witness your humiliation).



4.  Things that never used to bother you will start to bother you and things that you would previously have believed would have bothered you have no effect on you. 

Case in point:  the spoiled labradors.  Love them.  They are family.  I never used to care a thing about their hair - I just swept and vacuummed and went on with it.  And I still do ... but now their hair makes me a little crazy.  I sweep and vaccuum a lot more.  And nothing makes me crazier than finding a hair on the corner of Jones' mouth, or by his eye or something.  It bothers me more than him, I think, but still ... but don't worry, we're not going to be those people who banish their pets outside when they have a baby.  The spoiled labradors are family and always will be.  I'll just be a very OCD cleaner for awhile.


Who, us?  Shed?  Nnnnnooooooo ....

Also, the spit-up story told above.  The spit-up didn't bother me at all.  Didn't gross me out or anything - my primary concern was to comfort the baby and see that Jones get cleaned up and happy as soon as possible.  And you would've been hard pressed to get me to believe a year ago that having what is essentially soured milk thrown all over me right after I get after the shower wouldn't bother me, but there you go.



That's all I've got for now, although I'm sure there are more to come, and I'll share them when I recognize them as the epiphanies that they are.  Parenthood, really, is one big epiphany.