A little Pat Sajak never hurt anyone...

Get ready to judge me yet again, but I do let my child watch television and no I'm not worried that he'll have ADHD because of it (I'm quite certain his genetic make-up already set him up to be the tazmanian devil of energy that he is, so I doubt a little TV is really going to change much...).  Try staying at home all day with a 7 month old and tell me you don't have your TV on.  I'll admit, my TV stays on for most of the day if I'm home -- it's too damn quiet around here without it (and quite frankly, lonely).  A little bit of Kelly and Micheal with the morning coffee, some PVR'd Biggest Loser in the afternoon with a splash of Saved By the Bell reruns while dinner is being made never hurt anyone I'm sure (my son LOVES the theme song to Saved By The Bell and AC Slaters epic perm).  Now as soon as Judgy Justine reads this she obviously pictures me with my ass is parked on the couch all day eating cheetos while my child roams around the house crying, soiled, and hungry, which is exactly how I spend all of my days (said no mother ever...).  And then I stumbled upon this gem of an article written by either a childless person or a Judy McJudgy (Justine's sister..) parent who has long since stopped reading my blog because it offends them.  The level of fear mongering was so hilarious that  I thought I'd share a couple of my favorite excerpts.... and then re-write them for all the regular parents in the crowd... 

• Excerpt A: "But there's a price for allowing your kids to watch TV -- their language development, social and cognitive skills may suffer as a result.  Here are the main reasons why TV watching is bad for your baby."
• Modified Excerpt A: "But there's a price for allowing a mother not to shower, have a cup of coffee, or be able to make dinner -- her hygiene, eating habits, and overall heath will suffer as a result.  These are a few main reasons why some TV watching is not bad for your baby."

• Excerpt B: "Fourteen month old babies who watch an hour (60 minutes) of TV every day scored one-third lower on developmental tests, compared to babies of the same age who didn't watch TV.  Their developmental scores were still considered in the normal range, but the discrepancy still alarmed researchers."
• Modified Excerpt B:  "Fourteen month old babies who watched Jeopardy on TV instead of the evening news and were brought to Wal-Mart while being subjected to the company of trashy, weird people who smelt of pennies and cigarette smoke who tried to touch them and give their mother parenting advice for an hour (...which is 60 minutes, incase you forgot how long an hour was) scored one third-lower on a make believe test that really determines nothing, compared to babies of the same age that didn't watch out for falling prices.  Their developmental scores were still considered completely the same as any other child, but the researchers were alarmed that they could no longer purchase Big Mouth Billy Bass, but were excited to see that Pajama Jeans and Eggies were in the "As Seen On TV" section by the cashiers."

• Excerpt C:  "The American Academy of Pediatrics does not recommend that parents allow children under age 2 to watch television.  Their reasoning is that the first two years of your child's life is important to his brain's growth and development.  Kids need positive face to face interaction with adults and other kids.  For children over age 2, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends only one or two hours of educational and nonviolent television programs, which should be supervised by parents."
• Modified Excerpt C:  "The American Academy of Pediatrics does not know what it is like to have a child under the age of 2.  The Common Sense Commissioner of Candy Land says that having a television on in your household will not damage your child anymore than letting them play with tupperware while crawling around on your carpet that you definately have not recently steam cleaned (don't lie, it's filthy... I can see all the invisible germs from over here...).  A child's growth and development is important at all ages, and just because your TV is on in your home does not mean that inturn your child experiences negative interactions with others.  For children over the age of 2, the Common Sense Commissioner recommends only one or two hours of nonviolent TV daily (...just incase you were thinking about letting your 3 year old watch Criminal Minds before they go to bed...), which parents should use as time to catch up on laundry, make meals, have a cup of coffee, or take a shower...

• Excerpt D:  The researchers in this study found that no matter what was played on TV (regardless of whether it was baby-friendly shows or adult television shows), watching television hampered rich social interaction between parent and child.  Even when the babies and their parents actively interacted, just the fact that the television stayed on (even if it was only for a few minutes), the researchers still saw a significant drop in the baby's vocalizations and over all cognitive ability.
• Modified Excerpt D:  Really.  Really?  I don't even have the patience to modify this one.  So you're saying that even after only a few minutes of TV my child's development has been 'hampered' and he is now dumber?  I'd like to solve the puzzle Pat.

Show me your flawed research methods on that one American Association of Pediatrics.  I'd like to argue that even a few minutes of watching the witty and always entertaining Pat Sajak will improve my child's comedic timing, and vocabulary because he'll be solving those puzzles like a boss.

Want to read the actual article just to see I didn't make it up... here you go... Prepare to be fear mongered.  http://www.mypregnancybaby.com/baby-watching-tv/



Oh and as a wonderful cherry on top of a cupcake side note... the author of this delightful article  and I quote, "...is the founder and editor of Hip Chick's Guide to PMS, Pregnancy and Babies.  She's an expert on pregnancy and women's heath..."  But wait for it...she's is NOT a medical doctor and spends her free time writing children's novels and loving on her dog.  Childless, without a medical degree.... yet somehow is dispensing advice on parenting.  How does that saying go, don't judgementally blog about shit without walking a mile in someone else's spit-up covered shoes...? 

Oh 1989 TV Guide, you're hilarious... Now that's great advice. 

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But I thought you liked my boobies...

I'm offended.  I feel personally attacked.  My boobs are supple and cushy.  I've let you sleep on them when ever you want.  I've let you destroy them, and pushed through the epic awfulness of breast feeding all in your best interest.  I thought you loved my boobies.  Studies suggest you have more brain cells now because of my ability to lactate.  I've even got an interview for Mensa lined up for you next week.  So why, now of all times, have you decided they are not good enough for you?  Did they say something to hurt your feelings?  Did they not put out like they were supposed to?  Are you feeling upset that people keep calling you fat so you've decided to diet?  What is it!?  Please tell me, for the love of all things chocolate.  WHY.  WON'T.  YOU.  EAT!?

My child is on a boobie boycott.  He's hatin' on the hooters.  He's staged a munity against the melons.  He's went union on me and is on a nursing strike.  Apparently my son and Theresa Spence have been talking.  Those who have never went through this anxiety filled, guilt ridden, absolutely frustrating experience are lucky.  And those of us warriors who have fought the good fight and have been in the trenches deserve medals, made of coffee and chocolate dipped in a good nights sleep.

Let me tell you about the only two options I currently have for feeding my stubborn son.

1. Feed him normally, while awake -- when he is normally hungry.  Here's the problem.  He latches on just long enough for my milky way to start-a-flowing and then, "Psych!  No thanks.  I'm good."   Off the boobie he goes, all the while breast milk is a sprayin' all up in his grill.  Non-breast feeders in the group?   Picture a garden hose, take a pin and poke it 17 times all around the hose.  Now turn on the water... don't be shy, crank the knob.  Ahhhh, has it been 30 seconds?  Time to shut off the water.  Did you just visualize my nipple?  Good for you.  Now it'll be all the more awkward the next time you see me in public.  

So yeah, milk is dripping all over his face -- which he thinks is code for war (...I've learned he's a sneaky little bugger).  I'll think he's going to latch back on, that we settled all our differences over the negotiation tables with the mediator, and that this cursed strike is over and and bah boom!  Bite.  Yes, we're still talking about my nipple.  This is about the time that I tell my husband to take his son and I go and cry on the bed in complete frustration.  But let's be totally honest, I'm absolutely loving all the advice I haven't asked for... He's biting because he's not hungry (...really? He hasn't eaten in 7 hours... tell me more about not having your medial degree..), he's teething, or my worst fear that maybe he's a cannible.  Who the hell knows.  All I know is that day time feedings currently run the risk of a sponatneous nipplectomy, so for now, these boobies have turned nocturnal.  

2.  Dream feed him.  Interesting thing I've learned about babies, if you stick a nipple in their face when they're sleeping, they'll suck on it (probably true of most men too).  They'll eat until they're full, and actually never wake up from their blissful slumbers.  Alright, sounds simple... problem solved.  Except, my son doesn't nap.  Well he does, twice a day for all of 17 minutes...and 10 minutes of that time I'm bouncing him on a bloody exercise ball.  So it's freakin' Mardi Gras at my place because my boobies are out for show and are literally bouncing around.  But that only equals two feeds in a day, so I'm stuck feeding him all through the night.  He sleeps the night away with a boob in his face, while I'm a topless zombie.  I'm living the dream over here.

So the experts say it's a stage, just like anything with children I suppose -- and that it too will pass.  But in the mean time I can't help but feel guilty for not being able to feed my child properly.  Just incase you were wondering, bottle-feeding my child is also not a solution, I've made a commitment to breastfeed and I'm too stubborn to stop now (these boobies will not be defeated!).  Yet somehow I've taken this hunger strike personally, and it's screwing with my mom-self-esteem and my sleep causing me to go into a perpetual hibertnation-so-I-feel-shittier-about-myself paradox.  I get up in the morning, exhausted, feeling terrible about myself so I don't want to go out and face the world because the the mere idea of getting myself and the baby ready makes me tired.  Not to mention that I don't have the energy to be fake and am in no mood to be judged.  But then by the end of the day, it's 8pm, time for another all nighter and because I didn't go out and socialize with adults at all I now feel even worse.

We as Mom's  get initiated into motherhood by having the word martyr tattooed right across our foreheads with invisible ink the minute we evict our baby from its cushy utero-apartment.  There's something that changes in our DNA that makes us think that asking for help is a sign of weakness and incompetence.  So we face the world with our Supermom mask on, pretending that everything is rainbows and butterflies.  With the fear that if anyone really knew that...

 -- you're bloody exhausted from getting up 6 times during the night, 
 -- your nipples are chaffing and leaking against your shirt as you speak because you're engorged from your sons disinterest in your tata's, 
-- you opted for an italian shower in body spray over a real shower, 
-- you may have forgotten to brush your teeth,
-- your 'breakfast' was a cup of coffee warmed up from yesterday, 
-- you've had the same tank top on for two days and just put a different sweater over top, and...
-- you spent the last 10 days with tears streaming down your face as you try to breast-feed your babe feeling like a complete failure as a mother because you can't seem to feed your son properly,

... they would surely judge you, laugh in your face, tell you how much you suck and while you weren't looking call Child Protective Services on you because clearly you cannot handle being a Mom.

Well here's a newsflash.  Everyone's life sucks.  It's damn hard to be a Mom.  No one has it all together.  Everyone has cried.  Everyone has foregone a shower.  Everyone has wondered what the hell they got themselves into.  Everyone still loves their child, but sometimes admits to not liking them a whole lot at 3:17 in the morning.  Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, a fake, is just too scared to tell the truth, and is doing a disservice to mothers everywhere.  When you say things are fine, when they're not... you're perpetuating the cycle of Perfect-Mommyness.  Which FYI, is not attainable no matter how much you try.  

Motherhood is a gift but it comes at a heavy price of trying to be everything to this little person you created, and learning to accept the reality of your imperfections.  While I'm new at the game, I've learned something.  Trying to be perfect is just a waste of time.  I'll never be the perfect Mom.  I'll admit it freely.  So what.  Who cares.  I've truly stopped giving a shit what other people think about me, if you haven't yet.. you should try it.  So there you have it, my son won't have the perfect Mom.  But he will be loved.  Loved more than any little boy has been loved before.  That's all we as Mom's can do.  Stop sweating about the crap, stop putting on the fake-perfect-mom mask when you go out, stop caring about what those mom's-of-orange-county-I-lost-the-baby-weight-in-2-weeks-and-still-had-time-to-curl-my-hair think, and just love your little monster for the sweet little baby they usually are.  Because no matter how much being a Mom can suck, when those baby blues stare you straight in the eyes while his sweet baby hand pets your face like you're the prettiest girl in the world... it makes the shitty part of it all flush down the toilet with your tears reminding you that you've got this, you can do it, and that being this little guy's Mom is really still the best job in the world.  

Yeah, he's got mad game.  With that little smile, you can't help but love
him ...even when he tries to bite your boobie off.

Note:  There are many synonyms for boobies.  Here are a few I couldn't work into the post but had to mention just for fun:  titties, jugs, cans, gazongas, yabbos, knockers, fun bags, honkers, guns, bosom,  honkers, bazookas, and watermelons.















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Warning: Do Not Leave Child Unattended...

I can't think straight.  For one who used to be able to do complex math, just in my head, I can't even wrap my brain around what time it is.   The only numbers I can vaguely understand are number 1 and number 2.  So much number 2.  I have no idea why there is a bottle of olive oil in the fridge and why the milk is in the pantry.  It's 1:30 in the afternoon and I've yet to summon the courage to look at myself in a mirror, let alone get out of my pyjama's.  I use the term pyjama's loosely because if I'm not mistaken, I have been in the same black yoga pants and breast-milk-stained tank top for 29 hours but then again, my math could be wrong.  My brunch was a semi-warm cup of coffee (that I didn't have the patience to wait one full minute for the microwave to heat) and a peanut butter sandwich.  My vision seems blurry, but wait, my glasses are on -- ah dammit, what did I just step on?  *squeak* No worries, it just Sophie Le Expensive Dog Toy.  Sadly I'm not hungover (because that would mean I actually got out of the house and had the courage to pump and dump, which I cannot because that stuff is literally liquid gold).  I'm sleep deprived.

Bouncy Bouncy!

I stare at my baby, with that comatose like stare where you can't look away or merely blink because that would take far too much energy.  I don't understand where he is getting his endurance from as he bounces vigorously in his jumper.  I have been awake and asleep for just as long as he has.  Yet, I'm dead from the ass up and he's like "Carpe diem Mom!".  Lack of sleep is a horrible, horrible, horrible thing.  I now fully understand why it's listed in the Geneva Conventions.


I vaguely remember a time long long ago when I would have to set an alarm to wake up in the morning.  The need to hit the snooze button was overwhelming because, at the time, 7:15 was an ungodly time to wake up.  I have a faint recollection of thinking I felt tired.  Seven. Bloody. Fifteen.   Now, waking up at 7:15 sounds like a freaking vacation (... pass the mojitos, which way to the beach?)  If I could go back in time I would back hand my past-self and then take a long nap before coming back to the land of no sleep where the need for an alarm clock is unnecessary because I went and grew one for myself.

It's brilliant really, this brand-spanking new alarm clock.  It's so efficient that I can even keep it in a separate room and it will still wake me up.  However, lately it's started to malfunction. It seems to keep going off through out the middle of the night, even though I set it for 6:30 am.  It's odd, because it used to work well and now after having it for 6 months it has been going off at 11:30pm, 2:13am, 3:57am, 6:17am and finally at 7:02am.  In fact, its gotten so faulty that the precise minute I get back into bed, get back under the warm covers, settle my head into the pillow and scrunch into a pseudo fetal position, exhale in exhausted excitement at the prospect of sleep -- the alarm will go off, ah-gain.  I've been trying to find my receipt to see if there is a warranty on it so I can take it back and to get it fixed -- but I must have accidentally thrown it out (...it probably was in the same bag as my sanity).




Lucky for me, my new alarm has awesome 'wake-up' features that ensure I'll never over sleep again.  Each has a variety of sound choices (...that I keep on 'shuffle' just to keep it interesting) that escalate in volume if I take too long to go shut it off and it even still came with a snooze button.  When the alarm initially goes off, I'm definitely guilty for hitting snooze (...it's located on the 'power' button on the high tech video monitor accessory).  But no worries about sleeping in, there's a fool-poof back-up second alarm that goes off 7 minutes after you hit the snooze button.  That's right, I splurged and made sure that I have two alarm clocks (...both have life-time guarantees of disrupting my sleep).  I keep that fancy second one right next to me in bed.  It's a larger version, very aesthetically pleasing, easy to hold, and it only goes off when the first alarm gets too loud.  The problem with the second alarm is it only has one sound option that is downright aggravating to listen to.  The very instant it goes off, your mood instantly sours while you envision kicking it in the shins it as you drag your ass out of the bed for the fifth time in the last three hours. Without fail, the minute you've mustered the last ounce of your energy to get out of bed, the second alarm promptly rolls over and shuts off for the rest of the night (or until you hit the snooze button again).   I wonder what that feels like...

Ah, a homemade
body pillow for
everyones favourite
co-worker.


After weeks of broken sleep (if you can call it that) -- you start to think some crazy things.  During the wee hours of the morning, my mood is especially vile.  I cradle my son, as he sucks his thumb just loud enough to let me know if I put him down there will be hell to pay, while plotting brilliantly evil schemes.  (My complete and utter loathing for having to be awake while so tired has to be channelled somewhere.)  Like the perfect revenge for that special someone from work that I can't stand especially at 3:37 am.  I plot how next year I could start a secret Santa gift giving event... that I fix... so I get their name.  Then... I save a weeks worth of diapers in my diaper genie bag after having fed my babe prunes and only prunes every single day.  Next, I sew a beautiful, comfy fleece pillow case (...maybe I'll even embroider it with his initials) for the awesome new "body pillow" I got him.  If all goes according to plan,  he will love and enjoy it for at least one night of sleep before discovering what was so secret about Santa's gift.  Teach him to call me stupid while pregnant.  Yes, the reason you're 42 and single has everything to do with not being able to find the perfect girl (...or guy? Not that there's anything wrong with that...) that has the same intellect as you. There's an apparent shortage of single people with below-average intelligence these days, it's been all over the news.  It obviously has nothing to do with your charming personality and how you treat others (...seriously, who makes fun of a pregnant woman...).  But I digress...

"I'm sure this works well", said no one ever.

It is now morning, if you can call it that.  It is still dark out, I'm flipping channels between informercials for P90X and the No!No! hair removal system, and the only houses with lights on are the ones with in the same boat as me.  Ok, here you go kiddo, time to crawl around on the floor and start to burn some of that pent up energy.  Let's quickly run through my responsible parent checklist: Baby gate closed.  Check.  Doors to the bathroom and bedrooms closed.  Check.  Alright, I'm just going to lie down on this couch and watch the weather network remind me how icicles are made for the 17th time and supervise you while you army crawl like a wounded soilder around the carpet.  I'm just going to close my eyes for one minu...   


You know how you're not supposed to leave your child unattended?  That's pretty bad parenting right?  Would you leave your child to crawl around your house while you ran out to the store?  It'll only be 45 minutes.  Yep, that's what I basically did. Give the audience a prize.  You guessed it, I'm awesome and I totally fell asleep.  Imagine the huge rock of guilt I felt picturing the horrendous scenarios that could have happened to my little baby coupled with feeling of resignation that at least I got some rest I so desperately needed.  Great now I feel more guilty for being happy about getting some sleep.  Who has two thumbs and was just presented the mother of the year award?  This girl.  (Don't all of you call Child Protective Services at once, you'll crash the phone lines.)  In the end, my child was found by my husband, playing in the kitchen by the knifes, dynamite, and rat poison.  Just joking.  Obviously my house is baby proof, but sleep proof my couch definitely is not.  Note to self:  Must. Make. Coffee. Earlier.  

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Dear Pregnant-Me...There are some things you should know...

Dear 39-Week-Pregnant-Me,

Hey!  How's it going?  I know, this is weird right?  It is I, future you.  Almost 7 months after you gave birth actually.  Don't worry -- the baby is great, he has two teeth now and he's crawling around and babbling.  Totally impatient to see him, wondering who he'll look like?  *spoiler alert*  He's an adorable teeny-tiny version of your hubby with your blue eyes.  Tugs at your heart strings a little?  Well, enough of that.  I'm writing you because no one is going to tell you the truth about what is about to happen, and I think you (*cough*...we) have a right to know.  Prepare yourself, this is the "What to Expect, the Honest Edition."

You've read about labour, and you already know that nothing I tell you will prepare you for it.  But take this advice.  Stop worrying about how the drugs will effect the baby and whether or not it will make him sleepy.  You will not have a quick labour like some fictional women (who can push a child out in 52 minutes from start to finish) and you will feel indescribable pain.  So don't be a martyr, take the drugs --if they weren't safe, they wouldn't offer them.  Fentanyl is your friend (...and nitrous is a joke...you'll be too far gone for that shit to work).  And regardless... six weeks from now, with no more then 62 minutes of uninterrupted sleep, you'll be wishing for something...anything that will make your child sleepy.

Planning on curling your hair and wearing that cute black sundress to Labour and Delivery?  Picked out a pretty new sports bra with matching underwear to look nice in?  One, why the hell do you need pretty underwear?  You do know how the baby has to get out of you, right?  Two, don't bother with it because there is nothing pretty about labour.  By the time your hubby brings you to Labour and Delivery because you 'just can't take it anymore' (oh, boy... are you in for a surprise if you think you're in pain now...) you'll throw up ALL over your bra, hair, and dress within 10 minutes of being there.  It'll be embarrassing at the time, but 14 hours later you'll be naked from the waist down with your knees at your ears and you'll have an audience... trust me, this is nothing.  So, when the nurse hands you the kidney basin-- you're right in thinking it's not going to hold your vomit.  Take the garbage can from your husband when he offers it to you.

While we're still on the topic of labour, remember that 'class' you went to that was supposed to prepare you for the big day?  It was a load of bullshit.  Complete and absolute bullshit.  That exercise ball you nagged your husband into getting because you were certain it would be the best way to 'labour'?  Newsflash.  It stays at home and you stay bedridden by dibilitating pain for 16 hours of hard labour.  Oh, and toss the crossword puzzles and snacks in the garbage.  Unless of course your husband plans on eating while finding another word for boring while surfing the internet on his iPad in between your contractions when you're trying to rest.  And the rolling pin?  Really -- did you actually think for a minute that was going to be useful?  You know what, on second thought... keep it to throw at the anaesthesiologist.  He's going to miss the block for your epidural right after you've mentally given up and want to feel nothing ever again.  But don't worry, you'll feel every last bit of it because sadly you still have 5 hours and 4 centimeters to go.  

Time for some good news.  Surprisingly enough they weren't lying when they told you that you'll somehow forget the pain of child birth and that it's all worth it in the end.  The pain magically gets compartmentalized as the universes sneaky way of populating the planet.  But what they don't tell you is that walking will never feel more difficult because it will feel like someone kicked you as hard as they can with a steel toe boot in your lady flower.  It takes her a solid four weeks to recover along with your ability to hold your urine.  Be careful when you sneeze, laugh, or even sit down.  

It'll be ok though, because you have this beautiful baby boy that you both created.  Take a good look at him sleeping.  Awww, make sure you drink it in.   Because in four days when you get your professional 'newborn' photos done, he'll scream for three hours straight, and both you and your husbands blood pressure will go through the roof (...such a stressful day...).  Apparently there are babies that stay asleep and relaxed through the whole photo shoot, your son is not one of them.  

Oh, and take a good look at your nipples, because they have no idea what's about to hit them.  Breastfeeding may be natural, but it is NOT easy.  Believe me when I tell you that the only thing you did that actually prepared you for anything was taking that breastfeeding class.  Stop making fun of it.  Yes, you're right -- it was totally creepy to 'pretend' nurse a dolly.  But you met Lianna the Lactation Wizard. She will become your Saviour.  She deserves to be cannonized.  Call her sooner than later--because your nipples will fall off if you don't.

Here's the before... isn't it sweet? 
Imagine doing this exact same
shot as an 'after' picture? 
Where's the kidney basin now?

Oh and just so you know, you won't look as good as you hope in that sundress that you're planning on leaving the hospital in.  You think you look like a hippo now, at 39 weeks pregnant?   Your thighs may rub together but at least your belly is hard and filled with a baby.  It will look like a doughy enormous mess afterwards.  And you will still look pregnant... for months.  So make sure to bring your baby with you everywhere so you don't get into that awkward, "When are you due?"..."I'm not pregnant." conversation.

Next topic: Maternity clothes.  Don't pack them up.  In fact, you're going to fall in love with the pregnancy band because it will smooth out the muffin-top that overfloweth your 'regular-people pants'.   Some of your maternity pants will even make it into your regular clothes rotation (...shhhh...no one will know!).  Think of the belly-band as built in spanx.  Oh yeah, and you'll buy a pair of those too.  You're now that woman that goes into a lingerie store owned by a 63 year old lady with a short permed hair-do and asks her where the spanx are.  She'll say, "Oh, honey -- you don't need these at all!" but don't be fooled.  You do have a belly.  Sadly, it will be the last thing to go.  So just decide whether you want beige or black-- pay for it, and walk away with your brown paper bag purchase with your head held high.  You're a Mom now, this is a totally acceptable purchase.  We all secretly own them.

Remember your perky apple bottom?  It's gone... and in it's place is the saggy diaper bum.  That's right.  Even though you'll lose the pregnancy weight, you'll gain a Mom-Bum (..get ready for some squats at bootcamp!)  You don't have to trade in for mom-jeans just yet but good luck if you think you'll ever wear your old jeans again.  Why?  Your hips widened to push an 8 pound human out of your vagina.  (Oh common, if the word vagina scares you---wait until your first poop after delivering the baby, now THAT'S scary.)  But what an excellent reason to go out shopping.  Get excited to ask that young whipper-snapper for where the non-low-rise-I-need-to-get-control-over-this-jelly-belly-and-muffin-top jeans are.  Don't worry, they exist and they're stretchy.  Thankfully, leggings are still trendy.

Last, but not least, is the most important piece of information. Trust yourself with your baby.  You actually know exactly what to do, even when you think you don't.  Be insecure about a lot of things, like the fact you haven't showered in 3 days and have been wearing the same pants for 34 hours.  But your ability to mother your child?  Never question it.  As this little person grew in you, so did your Momma's instinct superpowers.  Your baby was only ready to come out and greet the world because your Mom-ninja skills were fully developed -- it had nothing to do with your water breaking or losing your mucous plug.  

You are all this child knows of the scary new world he just entered.  He will get to know and love his Dad, and all the other important people in his life.   But he already knows you and you already know him.  The bond between you and this child is nothing that can be described.  You grew him inside of you for 9 months-- think about that, actually inside you.  While it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders because you're his Momma (and you're supposed to somehow know how to do everything)...feel the love he has for you already in your heart, because you're his Momma and no one could possibly know him better.  Remember this the first time your in-laws tell you that they think the baby is hungry when you know damn well he's just gassy but you don't want to be that Mom that seems like a know it all.  You do know it all and everyone else will catch up eventually.

Well hopefully this helps a bit, enjoy your last week of sleep for a long time.  This is the final time you will ever feel bored, so do something or better yet do nothing.  Take a long shower.  Eat a hot meal.  Sleep until you can't sleep anymore.  Oh, and stop hanging up his baby clothes.  I know those cute little hangers seemed like a genius purchase but you'll be lucky if you can shove his wrinkled sleepers into the proper drawers by the time he's two-weeks old. 

Love, Mommy-Me

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