On Parenthood and Life Changes

In the alternate universe that is motherhood, you are suddenly as visible as a Victoria's Secret billboard on the West Side Highway. Only, it's not you people notice, but your delightful offspring.

'How cute' they chortle in the supermarket line. 'Look at those eyes!' Yes ma'am, I do look at them often, thank you for pointing them out. 'Oh what a sweet boy!'

It's a girl, you absolute bonehead! Must I dress her in pink for the rest of her life for your benefit?

After all the compliments and tongue clicks, you must passively nod and listen to a combination of wistful memories and mommy tips. 'Two months? How I miss that age! I have teenagers' I smile demurely in false commiseration, as if I care, when all I want is for my baby to nap for more than 30 minutes so I can finally tackle that nasty rim in the bathtub.

'Is she colicky? You must try dill water! Or gripe water! Or nitric acid mixed with ammonia!'

At family gatherings you are suddenly accepted by the other young mothers, as they inquire about feeding and sleep patterns and swap shopping tips, always starting with The Children's Place of course. You can easily excuse yourself when it's time to breastfeed or change a wet diaper (darn it, why won't you poop?!) and nobody will label you as an antisocial misfit. Even when all you're doing is being an antisocial misfit in the coat room.

Wherever you go, you are someone, you are a mother.

When conversations with guests turn awkward, there is always the baby to turn to, providing she's in the right mood. Brilliant smiles will never bore, shiny eyes and squealing laugh, endless babbling while she's too young to be shy. People should pay tickets to come stare at her the way they do.

The light of my life.

In this - and I repeat - in this alternate universe that is motherhood, you're lucky if you get to shower. Your friend calls to ask if you're getting a manicure, and you laugh and snicker to yourself 'she's not a mother, is she!' You sometimes wear your top inside out and don't notice until you're home again. You ignore small tears in your tights, hoping they will hold up and not tear further, just for the day. You bundle up the baby before leaving the house, but when it comes to your own care you throw a coat on without zipping up and leave for the car with nary a glance at the gloves and scarves. Then you're surprised when you start sniffling.

In this alternate universe, you shlep a supposedly 12 lb car seat with another 12 lbs of 5 month old baby, huffing and puffing until you can reach a shopping cart, and think nothing of it all.

In this strange twilight zone, previous concerns such as the political situation just pass you by as you pray for a dirty diaper.

'Oh, have you gained some weight?' Your friend inquires. You moron, it's post pregnancy fat! Did I detect some glee in your tone right there? Is it my fault that you are a skeletal newlywed who has time to go to the GYM?

In this world, your skinny wardrobe stares back at you, taunting, as you grab the same clothes off the rack day after day, hoping for a break from the digital scale. 'Another pound, another kilogram' you will it on, thinking of your old clothes.

This is a universe in which you would do anything for your baby, no matter how batty you feel, no matter how many nights she has kept you awake, despite entire days spent holding her to calm her, despite missed opportunities and holiday sales. It is a universe in which you finally understand unconditional love.