There's gonna be some Rocking...

Ok, so I'm feeling very Lindsay Lohan as I write this (the early-days-innocent Lohan, not the promiscuous-anorexic Lohan -- get your mind out of the gutter!) when she kept an online journal and was always apologizing for the long delay between posts. It's been a long time since my first post because I was trying to improve the look of the blog. As someone who has trouble editing word documents sometimes, editing HTML is a whole other world. I wouldn't say it's 'perfect', but it will do for now. So on to my post...

The truth. When you are pregnant for the first time, nobody tells you the truth. Maybe they blocked everything else out, and only remember the sweet seven-pound-two-ounce baby who fit in the crook of your arm. Maybe they think that it's too late because you're already pregnant, and don't want to hear it. Maybe they actually liked being a first-time parent in the early baby days. Yeah, right. Maybe that bowl of Baskin Robbins Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream I just ate won't end up on my hips... Nobody likes feeling like an idiot because they don't know why the baby is crying. Nobody likes being woken up repeatedly throughout the night. Nobody likes changing diapers - and outfits - filled to brim with neon green poo (who knew that poo came in colours...that is, other than shades of brown??). And certainly, nobody likes spending every waking hour in a constant state of panic, worry, and stress. (And who knew using Italics could be so fun!). Everybody has a different first-time experience, I know, but some things are universal.

Maybe my heart is two sizes too small, Mrs Grinch, but having a new baby is HARD WORK. It's HARD. It's just plain HARD...(yes, I am still talking about babies, you sicko...yeesh!). And part of what makes having a baby such hard work is that the work is just so relentless. I thought I was a person who didn't need much sleep. I thought I was a person who was used to working away in the trenches. I thought it would be hard, but nothing that I couldn't handle. I was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. And wrong again. Obviously, I survived. I'm still here. The Boy is still here. The Husband is still here. We all survived, thank goodness. But, man, it was touch and go for a while.

The curious thing is, I don't think that I'm alone in feeling this way. But no new Mommy I talked to wanted to admit the truth that we are all afraid to say: It's not fun. There it is. I wrote it for everyone to see, and now you can pass judgment. I am a Bad Mother. Everyone I talked to about the chaos at home was like "oh, he/she is just having a hard time, but I love him/her so much that...". Well, of course you love your baby - nobody's questioning that. Don't think for a second that I don't love the Boy with every breath I take. He is my pride and joy - my beautiful, wonderful Boy. But you are allowed to say it's hard, it's stressful and it's not much fun right now.

I guess the thing that sees you through the early days is that the Good Stuff is so very, VERY good. The sweet, hazy smiles. The tiny hand that rests softly on your chest as He drinks. The peaceful sleeping face of a little person who feels that you make a very good pillow. That's Good Stuff. And worth all the chaos. And it only gets better, my friend...