letter to my daughter

The Mommy Nerve


Once upon a time I looked at my gorgeous husband and I asked him to give me a baby. He knocked me up faster than a sneeze. It was glorious (on both accounts). I loved being pregnant even though I puked my guts up a bazillion times a day for the first 6 or 7 months. It was magical. People smiled at me in Target and asked me if it was a girl or a boy. They wanted to know my due date. There I was, in Target, with perfect strangers talking to me about my unborn child and through their wrinkled eyes and gray hair they would tell me how wonderful children are. They'd tell me how much I will love having a baby in my life. What I didn't realize was...

These people were GRANDparents. And big, fat stinking liars. 

As I type these words my 7 week old is learning the valuable lesson of "Hey! Your mom can't hold you all day long. I have stuff to do! LIKE SHOWER! AND EAT!" So she's watching the blurry colors and absorbing the inappropriate sounds of Family Guy. (MOTHER OF THE YEAR!) Her father will walk through the door and want to play with her, but what he fails to realize is that as soon as the clock strikes 7:15PM my sweet, adorable little girl turns into her own version of Edward Hyde. I swear her sparkly, beautiful blue eyes haze over into this deep, dark gray and she scowls at me with hatred as she recounts her earlier "cry it out session" and the fact that I slammed her against my pelvic bone for an entire hour during labor. Those people brilliant scientists that claim have proven children don't remember their entrance into the world have clearly never seen the look of resentment, hostility, and disgust their infant gives them at random points in the day. It's as if they're saying,

"Yeah ... I remember you, Dilating Cervix Lady. I remember my cruel descent down your pelvic region. And my crapping on your leg at 3:00 in the morning is just the start to the hellacious plans I have to pay you back! ... Hold on tight, Dilating Cervix Lady." 

I'm the middle child of seven children. I was guaranteed to be special. What my parents and siblings failed to understand is that one day this sarcastic, semi-inappropriate individual would reproduce. Now, I am a fantastic mother. (If I say so myself...) I love being a stay at home mom and watching my little girl grow. I love laughing with her and having conversations that she can't understand. It is perfection. But you moms know what I'm talking about when I say every kid hits a nerve at some point. This nerve is buried under about 18 layers of patience, 46 layers of love, and 4 layers of self control. Somehow, someway that 7 week old infant burrows in and finds that nerve and tap dances the crap all over it. More often then not it is moments after she has pooped all over you, is screaming bloody murder, and refusing to nap (even though she needs it). You look around for help and you find two Labrador Retrievers staring at you like you broke the baby and you're going to hell.

Because I am a middle child and sarcasm is my love language, I have started to think of ways to laugh at these situations. And by laugh I mean think of hilarious ways to pay my child back for tap dancing all over my well hidden Mommy Nerve. I've written these down in her journal that I will give to her when she graduates college. If she is my child (my hooha says she is...) she will get a good laugh out of it - and I hope you do too. Better to laugh than cry. Lord knows I'll be crying way too much when she is 13 and realizes I'm not as cool as I think I am.


"Dear Emma,

You're 7 weeks old. And you stress me out sometimes. We'll get through it, but here are some of the ways I wish I would have paid you back. (Or maybe I actually do it ...)

Love, The Best Mom in The World

1) When you poop on me. Why does this keep happening, by the way? You've never pooped on your dad. Did I do something wrong here? Is the pooping ON me really necessary? I follow all diaper changing procedures to protect myself. I've worked in daycares, nannied, babysat ... I'm really good at diaper changes! What gives, kid? Are you some Pooping Prodigy? At any rate, I'm going to let you get that cute puppy that you want so badly. Because I know one day he/she is going to drop a giant one in the house and you're bound to get poop on your hands. Enjoy that, sucker.

2) When you scream for no reason at all other than you want to be held. This, well ... this one is my favorite. It will be really hard not to do this for real. One day you're going to be 13 and hate me. You'll think I'm a loser when I make fangs with candy corn and laugh at my awesomeness. (Shut up, I am awesome! And THAT IS FUNNY!) At this tender age you will ask me to drop you off a block away from school or not "embarrass you in front of your friends." So my payback? When you reject me I would love to throw myself on the ground and wail like I have nothing to live for. I mean go crazy. Tears, snot, running mascara and hyperventilating  I want people seeing this spectacle to believe that I am actually dying. I want them to call 9-1-1. And when they ask 'what's the emergency?' I want to scream, 'she won't let me hang out with her all the time and go everywhere she goes and she hates me and has abandoned me and I'm dying. I'M DYING OF A BROKEN HEART!' Sufficient payback. Sufficient indeed.

3) When you scream when I walk out of a room and you can't see me. This is easy. Super easy. Here we are in the living room watching your stupid television shows about some teenage girls liking vampires (because I KNOW it's going to come back like platforms and bellbottoms when you are in your teenage years...) and you get up for a glass of tea. You walk into the kitchen and then all of the sudden you hear a shrill scream. You rush back into the room to find me smiling and happy again. You roll your eyes and walk away. It happens again, only this time it is worse. You run into the living room to find me flipping out like I have demons inside of me and the worst case of constipation to ever occur in the history of mankind. You ask me five times if I am okay, when I hear your voice and realize you're there I smile again and all is right with the world. Repeat. Repeat every stinking time you walk out of a room I am in.

4) Sore breastfeeding nipples. Bengay in your training bra. That's all I'm sayin'.

5) Fighting sleep. Ahh ... my second favorite. I'd like to come into your room at night and tell you stories. Loudly. Screaming them. As I drink espresso. There you are just trying to fall asleep and then there's me yelling to you about the time your dad and I installed the backsplash.

6) Interrupting mommy and daddy's "special time" because your binky fell out. All those nights you try to sit in your boyfriend's car, well I won't be interrupting it just to prevent Mr. Handsy from feeling you up. It's called payback. The worst kind of payback. There's a form of blocking that you're doing ... and I refuse to say that word here. But a blocker? That's what you are.

7) I love you. And you're going to grow up awesome because you have the realest mom in town. Eat your peas. And remember ... the best payback of all? One day you're going to be a mom."