Friday, August 19, 2005

Baby bliss or baby blues?

ok. the clock is ticking. for me it's just struck 26 past birth. and here are some thoughts that have occupied my mind recently. for those who are more than done with reading my splashes of demented wisdom, feel free to miss on this post :-)
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So you have a baby. After almost fourty weeks of watching your belly swell and finally burst from the sexiest pair of jeans you could only dream to fit in now (ahh, those cravings…), THE ONE has arrived, landing on your chest with a natural suction drive of a powerful vacuum cleaner. Now, those who have already damned me to burn in hell for the heretic account of what is commonly known as the MIRACLE OF BIRTH hold your horses and read on.
Apparently, I am not a mother. What’s more, I haven’t had children yet (thanks god or whatever supernatural being that I should be thanking). I even wasn’t there when my sister was giving birth (double thanks for that – I wouldn’t ever face a theatre full of masked faces cutting, slicing, splashing in blood, etc.). But I’ve seen what’s after. And craving irony as usual, I can’t wait to tell you what it’s like to watch and sometimes even participate in the hardest job on earth – BABYING.
But let me make myself clear here – I do like babies, I do think it is a miracle, one of the greatest things that can happen to you. But I also want to see the other side of what is taken for granted so often – the less than perfect life of a mother, working father and a full-time baby.
So. We’re back with the suction. Instantly, from the very first moment, BOOBs become the ultimate source of almost everything: food, comfort, peace and QUIET. In fact, since you’ve become a milk machine operating 24/7, it’s highly economic to simply keep your BOOBS out at all times. With an appealing prospect of at least six months of breastfeeding there’s also an issue you simply cannot ignore – the POO. It comes in all possible kinds of colours and consistency – but most often deliciously runny and almost always with an accompaniment of a freshly squeezed bottom burp. If this doesn’t sound chunky enough, there’s all sorts of spewing and upward peeing while being changed (mind you, it’s the baby doing all that). Basically, if you haven’t experienced any of those –it’s time to check if it’s not a baby-doll.
Some say that the first three months are the hardest. And even though normally it would feel like (just) a blink of an eye, time seems to be suddenly all messed up – days and nights all melt into a grey matter that, as my sister insistently claims, seems to have been vanishing from your brain with each drop of your milk, leaving an ever-expanding hole.
And then, there is BOOB REASONING. Yes, it’s not only men who’ve been blessed with two thinking organs. Once you’ve become a mother, you are more than certain to discover a whole new cognitive world within the undulated area below your neck.
The boob-like nature of it is as unreasonable as it can get – the least to say is just that the moment you leave your baby for more than a quarter of an hour, a milky exodus is set off in the vastness of your bra changing into a deluge of nutritious goodness – the result of your breasts presenting a more than slightly exaggerated vision of your baby in trouble – starving to death (even though it’s just fallen off the boob and is still spewing), plunging into the pool (doesn’t matter you don’t have one and your newborn baby can hardly sit up let alone run around), or simply not recognizing you after an eternity of two hours apart. All in all, you end up with a panic attack spraying milky fireworks thinking you are definitely going nuts this time – all that provided you ever GET the chance to go out, of course. For some reason you usually seem to have missed that chapter in which they tell you that for the first twelve months even a dash to the local dairy transforms into a fully-blown expedition on which you zoom among the shelves grabbing anything on your way just to make it to the cashier ASAP and call it a success when you manage to get home without a grand mal of an ear-piercing scream that will definitely make you a local star aka NOTORIOUS (B.I.G.) M.U.M.
Well, you might think, that’s not too bad, eh? (the ‘eh’ thing, yessss). Wait till you get to the stage when your baby starts talking and walking…

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey, It's OK Not To Be There When Your Wife Gives Birth
Examining the cultural elite. A man who doesn't want to watch his wife give birth is a jerk.
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Anonymous Anonymous said...

Best of the Blog
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