This girl was asked how much she loved being a mom. Her answer may shock you!

Oh, hi.

I was gone for a minute, but that’s because I was busy having–and subsequently, trying not to kill–a baby.

This adorable, healthy little fart factory was born six days late at 7:30pm on November 27th by unplanned c-section.

Introducing Liam Colin

This fart factory is also named Liam.

It’s been three weeks since Chunker (as I like to damagingly call him) was untimely ripped from my womb, and I am just now finding the time to write about it. I’ve started–and then abruptly stopped–this entry so many times, mostly due to the following:

  • abject laziness
  • savage abdominal pain due to major surgery
  • a once-every-three-hour feeding schedule
  • bloodcurdling infant screams
  • fecal explosions
  • painful nipples
  • leaking nipples
  • urine trickling out of the back of a diaper and onto my lap
  • sour milk spit-ups
  • not showering
  • taking a moment to neglect my two cats
  • tears (mine)
  • shovelling food into my mouth whilst hovering over the sink
  • resisting the urge to throat punch every person who insists that breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world
  • NO SLEEP LIKE EVER

I feel I must warn you–if you were expecting an entry that gushes about how amazing being a new mom is, how rewarding parenting has been so far, and how absolutely adorable my baby is, you’ve stumbled across the wrong Mommy Blog.

This newborn shit is no joke.

newborn

I’d like to take this moment to assure all three of my subscribers that I don’t have postpartum depression. So far, my infant is very much alive and relatively un-drowned in the bathtub. It’s just that my life for the past 23 days has been the most sleep-deprived, unglamorous emotional blur, that I am unable to be anything but brutally honest.

So when a dear friend asked me the other day, “So are you loving being a mom?”, I couldn’t lie to her.

I couldn’t reply, “Yes, I am loving every single feces-filled moment!”

I couldn’t honestly respond by saying, “Absolutely. This is all so beautiful and natural–I was born to be a mommy!”

I couldn’t look my beautiful, innocent friend in the eye and tell her, “I wouldn’t trade these sleepless nights for anything in the world!”

Because I would. I would trade them so hard.

Selfie

Me, essentially.

Instead, I responded to her very simply–and because I’m too exhausted to be anything else but–I also responded to her very honestly.

Without skipping a beat, I looked her right in the eye and replied, “It’s okay.”

facepalm

It’s okay.

What kind of monster says that? Is there something wrong with me? Why couldn’t I say “yes”?

I’m not sure what kind of response my friend was expecting, but if she was taken aback by my lack of enthusiasm, it didn’t show (bless her heart). I felt guilty afterwards, wondering if perhaps I should have rehearsed a response that was a little more heartfelt and sentimental, though monumentally less sincere.

Don’t get me wrong. There are moments–many, actually–where I am almost unable to handle how much I love this helpless, chubby little human. I will even admit that when it’s just him and I alone, his sweet face has brought me to tears many times. Watching him grow and change over the past three weeks has been truly fascinating, and sometimes, I can hardly believe that he is mine.

Especially after a loss, I am so grateful for him. He is my rainbow, and I am so happy that he is here, and that he is healthy.

feels

But I don’t love when he screams and there’s nothing I can do to make him stop.

I don’t love how difficult it’s been to simply feed him–a process that I naively thought was going to be the most easy, natural thing in the world. Spoiler alert: IT ISN’T.

I especially don’t love the diapers, the spit-ups, the sleepless nights, and take-out for dinner four times a week.

So no, I’m not loving it.

But him–this dependent, squirmy little snore machine, this adorable tiny human that completely relies on me for literally everything 24 hours a day, 7 days a week–him I love.

And it will get better. And easier.

One day he will look at me and smile.

One day he will take his first steps, and say his first words.

And one day, someone will ask me again, are you loving being a mom?, and things won’t be so new. I won’t be as overwhelmed, sleep-deprived, or as flailing and fumbling as I am now. And while I know none of this will get any easier, I do know feeding will get better, sleep will come, and one day in the not-too-distant future, I will be less frustrated, less stressed, and much more confident.

Until then, kiddo. We’ll figure this out together (and with a little help from wine!).

wine