When I hate being a Mom

Recently, I have read quite a few posts and articles about a paradox of motherhood. 

It goes like this: 

Mom loves kid. 

Mom would not give up kid for anything. 

But Mom hates being Mom. At times. 

And here I was, thinking I was alone. 

And crazy.

And selfish.

There are some days when I want to press the forward button all the way up to bedtime. 

And then I feel guilty because "they grow up so fast and you will miss these days".

Maybe when I am 70, I will have forgotten enough to actually miss these days.

As for now? Not so much.  

These days mean Loud Baby cries about everything.

And whines about the rest.

Example: she asks for small pink ball.

Mommy obliges.

She looks at the ball like it is an offensive object.

"No no" she whines. "I don't want pink ball".

So  Mommy takes it away.

And then she cries because I took it. 

And when I try giving it back, she cries and says she don't want it.

Sigh. 

These days mean Loud Baby won't play on her own for 5 minutes.

These days mean I can't prepare food without her throwing a tantrum on the kitchen floor because I won't let her pour the couscous into hot boiling water.

These days she throws her books and blocks.

These days she spits out her food.

These days she wants to bite and hit people. 

These days she cries because it's Tuesday, and because there's a cloud in the sky, and because grapes are purple (not green), and because she is in the car, and because she is not in the car. 

 

So here are a couple of confessions that will make me eligible for the bad/selfish mom category.

Oh well.

On these days I want to take the day off. 

Maybe two hours? 

I could pass her off to a grandparent or a friend or a sitter without remorse and go take a nap. 

I know bad behaviour comes with the package. 

I know it's in my job description to help her with her tantrums and overwhelming emotions about pink balls. 

I know you can't have only the good stuff. 

I still want to run away and hide until it's over especially after I am out of ideas. 

Speaking about running away, I miss just grabbing my bag, getting into the car and driving to a place.

No checking for sippy cups, snacks, diapers, wipes etc. 

No struggles about getting into the car seat.

No whining from the backseat "Dropped my water/doll/cracker" x 10.

Or deciding to go for a stroll with my husband in the evening. Just like that. 

There is no more "just like that". And I sometimes miss it. 

Lingering in bed in the morning. Just like that. 

Deciding to not go home after all but pop in for a movie.

Being able to see things in a store, not just staring at toddler level and waiting for the next disaster to happen.

Taking a sick day when sick and having peace and quiet and lying in bed. With a book.

So, yes, momminess is not a bed of roses. 

I would love to love every moment of it.

But I don't.

And it's unrealistic to be expected to love it all. 

And, yes, I do miss bits and pieces of my pre-mommy life. 

And, no, I have no idea what I am doing sometimes. 

And, yes, I feel guilty about whatever I just wrote.

Because there are bad things out there, and sick kids, and people who want kids, and abandoned kids and here I am complaining about something that is normal.

It's all a big bucket of craziness. 

But even when angry, and exhausted, and disappointed, and nostalgic and even empty, I still know I love my Loud Baby. 

Even if I can't feel it right then.

Even if I hate being the Mom right then because I am out of energy and ideas and empathy and want some "me" time.

I'll have "me" time when I am older. Too much of it even.

For now, it's baby time. 

 

 

Baby sleep experts vs. Baby

It took a while.

But I got there.

The point when you are reading your fourth book on baby sleep, desperate for a miracle solution and you realize... this can't be right!!

Loud Baby must have been around 4 months old when I was sitting in the library parking lot trying to find something (anything!) in the pages of the book I was holding that would help me understand how babies sleep. 

Or don't sleep, to be more precise.  

Reading was not an easy thing to do.

My mind was so tired I would rather have used the book as a pillow. 

A few months and three baby books later, this Mommy had given up.

The only effect all the reading had in our household was me constantly explaining to my husband how our baby should be sleeping because "it says so, in the book!". 

In other words, it added to my frustration. 

Why?

Because these books could not contradict themselves more. 

Let's take the Big Guys, shall we?

On the one hand, there's Dr. Weissbluth. 

He is an advocate for crying-it-out.

Sure, he will describe other options but it is pretty clear he thinks letting the baby cry-it-out ("it" what?!) is a great choice which will help the kid learn the much coveted skill of self-soothing and falling asleep on their own. 

According to him, babies should be able to sleep through the night starting around 6 months all the way up to one year. 

On the other hand, if you give in to your child's cries, you will deprive him of a learning opportunity.

The baby will learn that he needs to cry to get your attention. 

He won't learn to self-soothe and as a young adult he will be an addict looking for others to fulfil his needs.

Or something like that.

So basically if you don't follow his method, you screw up your kid.

Then there's Dr. Sears and his family gang. 

The father of attachment parenting.

According to him, babies should not be expected to sleep through the night  until... later. 

Like in a few years.

And of course, you should never ever ever let a child cry it out. 

Do whatever it takes to soothe him even if that means living your life on a yoga ball for two years. 

If you let the baby cry, he warns, he will learn not to trust you. 

You will have sabotaged your bond with the kid and you will be a traitor in his eyes. 

So basically if you don't follow his method, you screw up your kid.

Then there's Mr. Intermediate, or Dr. Ferber.

Famous for ferberizing. 

In summary, he says you let the baby cry only for a bit and then go into her room for a minute or so. Then let her cry some more and go in again after 10 minutes. Then wait 15 minutes until going in and so on.

Piece of cake. 

Keeping track of 5 minute intervals at 3 a.m. is completely feasible.

According to him, a child can sleep through the night starting at 4 months.

(I showed my kid this passage when she was 9 months old and not exactly sleeping through the night and she said it all sounded logical. Then she woke up 4 times that night).

There are various expert opinion from other well-meaning individuals like Dr. Cohen, Tracy Hogg in "The Baby Whisperer", Dr. Harvey Karp, Elizabeth Pantley  and last but not least, a myriad of parents who swear by one of these people.

Either way, the big three remain: the parent ignores the cries, the parent soothes the baby with whatever works (car rides, nursing, swings, singing, holding, whatever), the parent goes in and out of baby's room for a while and cannot understand how baby ended up in bed with her in the morning.

These books can help.

These books can induce panic.

These books might tell you babies need help to sleep and unless you do something, you will never sleep again.

I tried a chaotic combination of everything. 

I stuck to one method long enough until I finally had to admit it wasn't working. 

Then tried another. 

But be careful. You can't talk about the methods you are using with everyone. 

Choose your friends carefully.

If you tell the wrong person you were beyond despair and let your baby cry it out a few times, they might ask for your head on a plate for being the.worst.mom.ever. 

Now that my baby is finally sleeping at night after no less than 21 months I can write my own super smart book about how I did it. 

On second thought, here is the gist of it:

There are no recipes. 

Love your baby. Love yourself.

And find a balance that can get you both through the night. 

The stay-at-home-mom: a quick look at the specimen

The stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) is a rather peculiar being.

First, I reserve my right to object to the title.

It's misleading.

It suggests you do nothing but stay ... at home.

Inactively.

Sure.

Being a SAHM doesn't have much to do with staying in one place.

You're running around a lot of the time. 

Doing the things that keep life rolling but which are not fancy or glamourous.

You know, the kind your mom did for years and years but you didn't notice much. 

Like picking things up. All. the. time.

Toys and more toys, clothes, crumbs, crackers, wrappings, banana peels...and God knows what unidentifiable things. 

Once you are done, you can start again. 

Then there's laundry and ironing and stain removing.

Cleaning, scrubbing and disinfecting. 

Cooking, grocery shopping...

There's...oh who cares?!

It's boring to write it all down, it's boring to talk about it and so it might seem it is not  a valuable thing. 

Except it is. 

Because if I ask someone over to vacuum, dust and scrub my toilet, I have to pay them good money. 

Not to mention having someone for childcare! Babysitter, daycare, nanny...

Before I got pregnant, I had a full-time job, I was tutoring a couple of kids and I was finishing up my Master's. 

I was busy. And hyper. And exhausted. 

I felt very productive.

Now?  

I am pretty hyper and exhausted and productive as a SAHM as well. 

In a completely different way.

It took some time to get used to it.

But most days, I am really enjoying it. 

I like to be there and see my kid blooming, learning and growing into herself. 

For many months I had this nagging thought that I wasn't doing enough.

That it was not enough to just be a mom.

I had to have a job. Bring home a paycheck. 

Be super-mom and super-employee or whatever. 

But then, one day at the library it was story time and I went with Loud Baby.

There were soo many kids.

Also, there were two dads, about 5 moms and a lot of nannies. 

Some nannies were sweet and enthusiastic.

Some were bored out of their wits as it happens to adults stuck in a kids' program. 

As for me, I was glad I was the one there with my daughter, having the chance of getting bored.

And I didn't.

I enjoyed all her babbling and reading the same book ten times and singing the same song 12 times. 

It's not always like that but I'd rather I were the person she can nag and annoy and drive crazy. 

Because then I also get to be the person she learns from and the one she delights with her silliness. 

Maybe one day there will be no choice, and I will have to get a job.

Maybe one day I will simply feel it is time for me to look for work. 

But it will be because I want to or need to, not because of the ingrained belief that a SAHM is inferior, not living up to her potential, not doing enough...you name it. 

Time to go read "Where is baby's belly button". Loud and proud :)

Mothersucking breastfeeding

Loud Baby is now almost 21 months old. Which equals 21 months of breastfeeding.

I know you are probably thinking "Give me a break. You can just wean her". 

I probably could. But I prefer to have working eardrums. And nursing actually helps me to be less the mom on the left of the picture. Or more? Not sure.

Anyway.

Breastfeeding is such a controversial subject. I didn't realize that until fairly recently. 

I was exposed only to the breast is best doctrine when pregnant. 

You know, the kind of teaching that will make you feel guilty for even thinking about giving your child formula. 

Not cool. 

And then there is the other group. The ones who will hit you with "Oh please, you and your nursing. Are you showing off or what? So many people grew up with formula when babies and they turned up just fine" and other similar comments. 

It seems that as a mom, you just can't get it right.

My relationship with breastfeeding is a love-and-hate one. 

I know that according to the dogma of lactation consultants you are supposed to enjoy every moment of it. Because it is so natural, and healthy, and helps with bonding....Plus I have milk and others don't so how dare I be anything but grateful and joyous. 

The truth is never black and white. So I will get down to that.

White (aka the good part):

Nursing calms my little one down even now when she is a toddler.

It's great when on a plane.

It puts her to sleep every evening and for every nap.

It is healthy and should help with her immunity. 

It helps with brain development.

It helps with bonding (most of the time).

Black (the not so fun parts): 

It hurts!! It hurts at the beginning and then it hurts when they get teeth and then it hurts when they get more teeth. Time and time again, you need to work on the latch, on the positions and on getting lanolin stains out of your clothes (which is a whole different kind of challenge).

You are very limited about what pills you can take when you are sick. 

Nyquil for horrible-I-want-to-die-now flu symptoms? Sorry, nope.

And even when quite sick, you still have to nurse.

For me, it felt like life was being sucked out of me in those moments.

It makes you feel that your body is still not your own. 

Nine months pregnancy when someone else is in charge and then this. Sigh.

Also, Loud Baby is very demanding when it comes to nursing.

I think she believes she owns ... the farm. 

And of course there were the worries at the beginning.

Do I have enough milk, is she getting enough, is she gaining weight, what can I do about this horrible oversupply that makes us both miserable but about which I cannot tell anyone because they will shame me about not simply being grateful for having milk? 

And last but not least, only you, the mom can do it. Even more so when you have a baby like mine who will not take a bottle. Total dependency. 

But here I am still doing it. I am probably as used to it by now as Loud Baby is. It simply has become part of my life, my days. Plus I always tell myself that if I really did have to wean her, I would but while I can still do this, I will. I also want to believe that Loud Baby knows what she needs and will let go on her own when she is done. I probably don't want to do it past 3 years old though. 

The good thing is that Loud Baby understands so much already and she really tries hard to latch on well. She says things like "Mommy no ouch. Nicely" which is, of course, extra cute. So even if she won't give up nursing on her own very soon, there will come a time when I can hopefully explain to her that we are done.

I will just keep the lanolin on hand until then.

My mushy brain

After two months I now finally have the time, energy and mild inspiration to write.

That says a lot. Or at least, it does say something about the level of business in our lives.

I am the kind of person who is always busy. 

You know, the annoying  kind.

In the past week I've turned down 4 different invitations to different kind of activities.

"Sorry, 2 o'clock is nap time for us"

"Sorry, 7 is too late, we are having dinner then"

"Sorry, Loud Baby is teething and super cranky today, I really can't take her to multiple stores right now for a shopping spree". 

Well, actually I could, but the people in the stores would not appreciate it much. 

That being said, even if Loud Baby is napping or away with her dad for an hour, my mind never stops being busy. It thinks and thinks and thinks some more about the things that need to be done, cleaned, bought, organized and so on. 

"I must remember to..." is probably the phrase that crosses my mind most often on a daily basis. 

Shoes in the livingroom?

Must remember to put them back so we don't look for them when we are leaving (and always in a hurry, and always late).

Puzzle pieces in the hamper?

Must remember to take back to puzzle box.

And to write email to friend.

And to start dishwasher.

And to make grocery list.

And to...where's the cat?!

You get the idea.

Before we had a baby, I used to be pretty sharp. I knew where things were in my house, in the car, in the city. I could multitask calmly and efficiently and I would enjoy it.

Flash forward 19 months later and I have no idea what I'm doing.

Literally. 

I remember heading for the kitchen to load the dishwasher but I end up on the balcony to put the diaper pail out for some fresh air. 

I have no idea where my phone is most of the time. Or my sunglasses. Or my clothes.

Or my keys until recently. (I bought this awesome cheap hook that you hang on the door and that's where I put my keys. Way out of reach for tiny and not so tiny hands).

Things get lost in our house all the time. 

In the past month we've lost a baby hat, a toddler t-shirt, a key to the house, a laundry card, a pumpkin carving kit (!)...and I'm sure there will be more.

I would love to blame it all on Loud Baby but truth be told she can't be held responsible for all of this stuff. 

Nope. It's me. 

I have no idea where I put some of these prized possessions. 

And these are the things that have been swallowed up by Mother Earth but I spend every day looking for stuff. 

Stuff like shoes (usually one), loveys, crayons, wallet, building blocks etc. 

I regularly forget where I park the car and am hit by a panic attack when I exit Target with 7 bags and have no idea which way to go. 

My brain is mushy. Or, better yet, so tightly wound and in such a hurry that it just doesn't have the patience anymore to think a thought through cohesively enough for me to follow.

Example situation: we just got home and I have parked the car.

(The car is a unique ecosystem comprised of baby books, Lamaze toys, sweaters and blankets, crackers and baby puree remains, bits and scraps of paper, strollers, fresh and not so fresh sippy cups...).

Anyway. We are home now and need to get out of the car. That might not sound complicated at first but, trust me, it is. To my mind at least. 

Items that need to be removed from the car: 2 giant grocery bags, another bag full of library books, my diaper bag/purse, jacket, Husband's backpack; 2 adults and 1 toddler. 

My husbands gets the little one so I start removing things from the trunk. 

Suddenly, I remember I have no idea where my keys are. I check one of the pockets on my diaper bag and it's there. Whew!

Meanwhile, Loud Baby is out and she sees her doll stroller in the trunk.

"Stroller! Stroller!Stroller" x 134

I get the stroller out and remember I should really get the sippy cup out too this time before any nasty mold starts making its appearance.My husband is locking the door on his side and picks up the grocery bags while I do acrobatics as I try to fish out a sippy cup from under the seats of a two-door car. 

Success!

Loud Baby however is very eager with her stroller and makes a head start with great speed through the parking lot. Downhill. Where cars may come any time. 

I run to catch her and slow her down. She's not too happy about it and lets me know.

We get on the sidewalk, daddy joins us with the bags.

"I locked your side too", he says.

Right. I forgot all about that. (No automatic doors, in case you were wondering).

Two hours later after lunch, Loud Baby is in the mood for reading.

Oh goody. I'll read her one of the cute library books I got her.

Except, the bag with 6 library books is nowhere to be found.

Nobody remembers anything about it.

My husband goes down to the car to check.

It was on top of the car.

I think I'd better not get too attached to things.

 

Why it's hard

I was looking at the trailer for the movie "Moms' Night Out" the other day and a comment caught my eye.

The person was saying how much he/she is fed up with people in America making such a big deal out of motherhood.

So that got me thinking.

Are we moms making a big deal out of our momminess?

We write blogs.

Some of us publish our stuff in books. 

We vent and we rant and we talk on forums. 

And on average there is 1 movie/2 years that tries to address the subject of parenting beyond showing a funny scene of changing a poopy diaper  for the first time.

After that bam!- the kid's all grown up.

So I decided to write a post about why I personally think momminess is a subject one can talk about endlessly and with good reason.

I understand why many would think it's no big deal.

So many women are doing it, right?

Plus, it's been done since the beginning of time.

It's how life works, women have always been moms so stop being a martyr and stop complaining, right?

I believe that moms write about their days not because they want pity or a prize. 

It's letting off steam (there's a lot of that, for sure) and it's doing something creative for a change apart from laundry and scheduling doctor's appointments.

Just because so many of us are doing it, doesn't make it any easier.

I didn't get it either before I had my own baby.

People tell you everything changes after you have a child.

But what does that mean anyway?

I smiled and nodded politely when someone would tell me this and think: 

"Of course it will. And I am ready"

Now, 17 months later, I'll tell you this: I am not ready. 

I will never be ready.

I take one day at a time, sometimes 1 minute at a time. 

Why is it hard? What's changed?

Everything, of course. (how original)

Basically, everything you've done before - simple things- become massive projects.

The little routine you were used to when having lunch or driving to Target or getting groceries or washing your hair or checking your emails or cleaning your house or or or...is dead.

Dead as a doornail. 

Before a baby, you get up in the morning, brush your teeth, make breakfast, eat, get dressed, put on make-up etc.

After the baby?

You obviously need to take care of the little one, change her diaper, dress her, give her breakfast, play with her- all of this in addition to your previously obliviously easy routine.  

But you are dealing with another human being here not a docile little doll and she has... other plans pretty much all the time.

So here's how it goes.

Baby wakes Mommy in the morning. It can be at dawn or at 8 if you are lucky.

Mommy (me) drags herself out of bed and tries to think fresh thoughts.

I pick Loud Baby up and do a little cuddling.

Baby is in no mood for cuddles, she needs to get going and save the universe once again.

Mommy picks Baby up for diaper change.

Baby screams, becomes stiff as a board.

Mommy wrestles Baby onto changing table while trying to say reassuring and kind stuff at 6:03 AM .

Then Baby runs off and starts playing with some toys in the living room.

Mommy grabs whatever clothes are lying around and puts them on.

Mommy goes to bathroom.

Baby barges in and watches Mommy's every move. 

Yes, EVERY move.

Baby wants to brush Mommy's teeth but runs off with toothbrush while Mommy is foaming at the mouth...

Mommy retrieves toothbrush from screaming Baby.

Repeat with hairbrush.

Mommy washes her face but Baby is pulling her hand to go play and read and dance and...yawn.

Mommy reads to Baby.

Mommy takes Baby into the kitchen, gives her a couple of pots and pans hoping to keep Baby busy while she tries to make breakfast. 

Baby does not want pots and pans and pulls Mommy away from counter.

Mommy tries to find something else for Baby but she only wants to climb into the dishwasher/raid the fridge.

Finally, after being interrupted merely for 23.5 times, Mommy makes a couple of sandwiches (no time for eggs and fancy stuff). 

Mommy victoriously announces: "Breakfast. Time to eat"

Baby runs off to the other side of the house. 

Mommy takes a few bites before deciding to engage into this fun game.

If lucky, Mommy playfully retrieves Baby and puts her in high chair.

If not so lucky, screaming Loud Baby takes 4 minutes to be placed into high chair.

Mommy gives Baby bites of the sandwich while having some herself (it's the only way I can eat lately).

Baby takes two bites after which she refuses all food and wants to jump from high chair.

Mommy draws for Baby to make her sit back down.

Baby is caught. She takes two more bites.

And then she doesn't.

Baby opens mouth only to close it right before food reaches it and smiles playfully.

Mommy reads to Baby.

Three more bites.

Mommy eats and shows Baby how yummy it is but Baby is unimpressed.

Baby keeps saying her all-time favorite word: "No-no-no-no".

Baby throws crayons from high chair.

Mommy thinks: Fine, she's not hungry. Good enough.

Baby surprisingly asks for a few more bites.

Mommy feels like she could throw a party right now just for that.

Baby resumes playing with toys while Mommy quickly places stuff in the dishwasher.

Baby somehow hurts herself and screams the roof off.

Mommy comforts Baby, kisses boo-boo and detects diaper change is needed.

After diaper-change Mommy realizes Baby doesn't have any pants on.

Baby determinedly refuses pants. 

Mommy sits down to check email.

Baby wants to climb into her lap and clobber the laptop to death.

Mommy tries to distract Baby and give her toy laptop but Baby is not buying it.

Baby throws tantrum, wants to clobber Mommy now.

Mommy tries to remember what on earth she read about positive parenting in such situations and implements it until Baby is calm again.

Mommy is wondering what drugs she was on when she thought she was ready for a baby.

Mommy and Baby play, draw and sing.

Baby makes  cute noises, smiles, hugs Mommy and does funny stunts.

Mommy is wondering when she could have another little  one.

Mommy asks Baby to choose book to read hoping it won't be the annoying one.

Baby brings annoying book. 

Mommy is mentally doing countdown until naptime. 

In addition to making mental notes about the whats, whens and hows of shopping lists, cooking ingredients, bills to be paid, floors to be cleaned, emails to be written, calls to be made.

Mommy needs her own nap right now.

What's the time again?

8: 17. Right. 

So there. Momminess: the perfect mixture of ups and downs within a span of minutes; boredom, monotony and repetition taken to extremes; a test in physical and mental strength; overflowing joy, pride and pure love; resilience, adaptability, creativity; Momminess is when having done some dusting is an accomplishment, when you feel a great feeling of success because your kid did what you asked them to or because those stains came out fairly easily from your new dress/carpet/wall. 

There are no rewards, no employee of the month posters, no paychecks, no bonuses, no praises. 

There's Mommy and Baby throughout the day learning about being a Mommy and discovering the world for the first time and once again.

Complicated? Nope.

Hard? Yes.

Worth talking about? Yes!

.

Mrs. Belly

When I was pregnant with Loud Baby, I put on a few pounds.

No surprise there. 

I loved loved loved eating.

Gorging myself on yummy food.

Glorious food!

Mongolian stir-fry, quesadillas, creamy soups and lots of ice-cream.

After all-day-sickness finally bid me farewell at 16 weeks (I refuse to call it morning-sickness), I thought I earned the right to fill my tummy with good and (most of the time) healthy food.

"It's for the baby".

Of course it was...

After living on buttered toast, grapes and chicken broth with rice noodles during the first trimester, I had zero regrets in satisfying my cravings as they came.

To be totally honest, I was quite skinny before I was pregnant.

Thank you, good genes, for that. 

Seeing myself get..um... a little big...was a very interesting thing for me. 

And, although I worried about practically everything, I did not worry about losing the baby weight.

Probably because I could simply not think past giving birth. 

Suffice to say, a couple of months after having Loud Baby, most of the weight was gone.

What remained made me look...normal as opposed to quite skinny.

Except.

My belly.

I call her Mrs. Belly.

Who keeps me from being able to wear quite a few of my pre-pregnancy pants.

(Secret note: I still use a belly band so I can wear my old stuff without having to pull up the zipper.)

I have also bought a couple of new pants because I got so frustrated with all the non-zipping and covering up.

But the worst worst part of Mrs. Belly is that she makes me look pregnant. 

End of first trimester but still.

A less careful and rushed wardrobe combination of top and bottom will surely bring on the: "Are you pregnant?" question.

(By less careful I mean using something else than the 2 items of clothing that I have which are good for camouflage.) 

So I have a lot of problems with this question.

Ok, two major problems, to be exact.

1. You do not ask this. Ever. It's none of your business. You always always risk calling someone a fatty with this question. When it's obvious it's obvious.And then you won't have to ask.

2. Most of the people who feel the need to know the reason for my little food bump are women. 

Don't they know from experience that you might have some ... leftovers? Especially if they have just become moms or grandmothers?

Their enthusiasm in asking if I am pregnant again is sweet.

Was. Was sweet.

Now it's just annoying to me.

I have gone through various answers from chuckling nervously and saying "No, no..." to "I am still planning my postpartum workout" to "I need a little extra while breastfeeding". 

Lately, I just say "This? This is the baby from my love-affair with chocolate" (usually not to the granmommies, I stick to the classics there).

On a side note: my own granma noticed Mrs. Belly one day and commented on her (although not pregnancy-wise).

Now, she tends to forget things so every now and then she'll notice it and comment on her. Again.

Fun fun.

Mrs. Belly is here to stay for awhile.

And that's ok.

With all the other side-effects of having been pregnant and given birth.

Mommies are the hottest chicks, anyway. 

Gotta go. My icecream is waiting.