Parenthood is surely a wonderful thing. Watching our child grow, my husband and I try to enjoy every nanosecond to the fullest… Even if that meant kissing our baby daughter's beet red "pooping face" while she was getting business done. I know, it sounds insane! But I'm sure everyone has his/her own weird little thing going when it comes to savoring life as a parent. Although it is generally blissful to attend to this demanding little person's needs (dirty diapers and "The Exorcist" style spit-ups included), sometimes it proves to be alarmingly easy to lose patience over a little shriek. Especially, if it's heard through a baby monitor at 3:45 am. Right after you thought she had gone back to sleep after her middle-of-the-night feeding... And you have to wake up at 5:00 am, but got to bed past midnight. Thank you, fucking binky.
It's funny how you can be a hero or a bitch in a matter of seconds. I don't mind it though, and as seen from my perspective, it can only be blamed to the fact that we're only human. And as a human, I'm designed to feel and have emotions, even if those come in the form of frustration towards a baby girl who needs me as much as I need her, but that truth be told, can be a bit of a challenge sometimes. And I'm sure most first-time parents (and many parents with multiple children) are with me on this. The good news is, as I was told by one too many sympathetic mom, right when you think you can't take it anymore, it magically gets better. And when I say better, I mean GREAT. Ask any mom (or dad) who for months has lived on fragmented sleep: about 2 to 3 hours tops at a time, and that one morning wakes up with the sudden realization that she/he has slept for 6 hours non-stop. We're talking REM sleep people, dreaming and all the good things that can only be the result of a good night sleep (which before Emma I took for granted).
*** VERY IMPORTANT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT***
For those who support, encourage and practice the "8 hours of sleep" rule, please be advised that once children come, that rule is automatically voided and won't be valid again until the aforementioned children have left the comfort of your home. That is, if by then you haven't become an insomniac out of pure habit.
The one thing about parenthood I wasn't prepared for, even though is a pretty obvious thing since I, like everyone else, have been a part of it for as long as I remember, was the fact that the world and every single individual in it are spectators and judges of our parenting skills. It doesn't occur to you until you are the one being constantly bombarded by unwelcome stares and gestures of disapproval. Most of them, I've gathered, come from elderly women who give my daughter adoring looks, but the second they realize she's barefoot and without a blanket in an air conditioned establishment or bus, automatically dart critical looks at me. I know what they're thinking… "the poor little darling, she'll catch pneumonia, no doubt". If they were aware that pneumonia is caused by either bacteria or a virus, and not cold air (which, as they obviously don't know, my daughter enjoys), they'll have more time to reason and think along the lines of "thank goodness this baby is nice and cool and not roasting on the 96 degrees out there". I also find that whenever I pop out a bottle of formula to feed baby, someone gives the known "You don't breastfeed her anymore?" look. This one in particular aggravates me the most. In my opinion, breastfeeding is a choice, not a duty, and it depends on whether or not it fits your lifestyle. In our case, with me having to go back to work when Emma was about 8 weeks old (and given the nature of my job I wouldn't have time to pump my "liquid gold"), we decided formula was the way to go. And hear me formula-phobics: She's growing and thriving like any other breastfed baby. In your face!
The most compelling example of people being judgmental, was extremely obvious when I started taking my daughter in her stroller, 2 mornings a week, to meet my husband downtown using public transportation. The Baby Bjorn proved to be great at the beginning, especially since we take a bus and then the train (and the latter isn't wheelchair/stroller accessible), but with the temperatures rising and Emma growing like she should, it became more of a hot baby confinement than a comfy baby carrier. Most mornings, I find myself struggling to find a helping hand to bring the stroller up and down long sets of stairways, finally giving up and carrying it myself all the way down to the platforms. Thankfully, I can do the job with a bit of effort. But what shocks me and upsets me is the fact that many men and women go by me without even a smidgen of sympathy. Sometimes I wonder what goes through their minds as they passively walk by a woman struggling with a stroller down the stairs. The answer to that question came to me one afternoon while exchanging stories with Marc about our commute from and back home. The appalling fact, I figured, is that all those people think I DESERVE to struggle. Yes, I am being judged by the fact that at that particular moment, I lack of a male companion to make myself worthy of respect, let alone help. In other words, people perceive me as a single mother who probably screwed up so badly, she has to face life as a parent alone. Therefore, she doesn't deserve consideration; after all, she inflicted this upon herself. Screw you biyatch!
You may ask how I got to such conclusion? Well, how about asking my husband what kind of treatment he gets when he's seen alone with a baby in her stroller? "Hero", he tells me. Is as if people assumed he's a single father, courageously facing the world with a newborn baby without the love and support of a mother and wife. HE gets help up AND down stairways. HE gets seats offered, free fares (no T pass handy? no problemo!), all kinds of star treatments to ensure he has a pleasant and undisturbed ride home.
Yeap, he who is 6'2" and over 200 lb gets all that, where as me, 5'4" and with the strength equivalent to that of a piece of foam gets none. All I have left to say is, "Help! Anyone...?".
