There isn’t a class that can prepare you for the crazy that comes with being a parent. Trust me… I looked for one. And all the books in the world, as helpful as they may be, only give you a guideline of what the majority of parents have gone through. If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far, it’s that every child – and therefore every parenting experience – is different.
Basically, good luck and enjoy the ride. It’s going to be a bumpy one… So you might as well throw on a pair of goggles, tighten your seatbealt, and throw up your hands in excited exhilaration. Because trust me, it’s either that or freak out and panic. And I imagine that 18+ years is a long time to live in panic mode!
It’s amazing how quickly you do start to adjust once a mini-version of yourself arrives on the scene though. I never really was a ‘baby person’ before, as I’m hardly ever around one. But only six weeks in, and I officially have Baby Rabies, as my friend Ashley likes to put it. I’m obsessed!! And my husband Nate and I have already mastered the sweeter-than-honey vocabulary known as baby-talk. (Something we always swore we’d never participate in, by the way).
In just these few short weeks, without even really trying, we have even created our own set of words along the lines of ‘binky’ and ‘lovey’. For example, to ‘Poot’ is to poop (have a bowel movement) and to toot (to pass gas) at the same time, something that Brady is particularly good at, I might add.
He is a pooting fiend!
And we also like to make up the silliest of songs, mostly because we don’t seem to actually know the words to any. We’ll be singing a tune that we thought would be familiar, only to realize that we have absolutely no idea what words come next. Even Rock-a-bye Baby tripped me up, and there’s only so many times you can sing You are my Sunshine (although that’s my favorite, and one that I hope Brady remembers me singing to him)! 🙂
So we just create random songs to melodies we know, because – in the end – Brady just likes to hear our voices. (Or so we think… He doesn’t know English yet, so he can’t exactly tell us either way).
Most of the time, we’re actually pretty good at coming up with sentences that rhyme and that almost make sense. Seriously, it’s too bad that there isn’t some kind of parent-singing-competition that would showcase our skills. We’d at least be finalists, gearing up to win diapers for life or something like that. But the other morning, I was rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes as Nate changed Brady’s diapers, and I heard him singing “European, European, European” over and over again. It was really early, and I was slightly crabby after a night of very little sleep.
So I abruptly sat up, shook my hands in frustration, and exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, why are you singing ‘European’ over and over? It’s too early for this!”
Nate looked confused a moment and then replied, “No, I’m singing ‘You’re a-peein’.”
“Oh,oops. I’m sorry,” I said apologetically. He was changing Brady’s diaper after all, so it made sense. My bad!
Yes, the craziness is real, my friends!
The other evening, Brady was screaming bloody murder, and we could tell that it wasn’t his usual “I’m in pain from the gas in my tummy” type cry. We just weren’t quite sure if it was a dirty diaper, hunger, or both that was causing him to shriek so viciously. So while Nate quickly carried the red-faced baby to the changing table to freshen his diaper, I ripped off my top to prepare to nurse him, in case he was hungry.
Seriously, I ripped off my top. Somehow, in my crazed attempt to get my shirt off as quickly as possible, my thumb tore through the fabric of my sleeve. It wasn’t even at the seam, so I’m still slightly amazed at my sudden strength. That my friends, is desperation to get your child fed and soothed. (And it was also fashion sacrilege, as it was one of my favorite striped shirts, may it rest in pieces).
So anyway, I’m sitting on the bed, staring at the ripped shirt in my hands with a slightly shocked look on my face, when I called up to Nate to look over at me. I was slightly horrified and devastated… and slightly impressed. I kind of felt like the female version of the hulk, which was sort of awesome.
Nate, however, had his own troubles, as he was wrist deep in poop… literally.
See Brady likes to poop the minute his diaper is taken off, as he seems to feel that it’s not quite as comfortable to poop in a diaper that he has already peed in. I find it slightly frustrating, but mostly hilarious. My logical, ducks-in-a-row husband, however, freaks out every time. Oftentimes, it does mean that Brady will go through two diapers at a time, as we’ll have to change him the minute we’ve finished changing him. (And as you already know, I’m sure, diapers aren’t cheap). And sometimes, Brady likes to time it just right so that he poops the minute his dirty diaper is whipped away… so that he ends up pooping on the changing table. Seriously, the kid has his timing down so perfectly, it’s almost impressive.
Anyway, Nate wasn’t going to be outsmarted this time. So when Brady started to poop before a clean diaper could be rushed under his bum, Nate decided to catch the poop in his hands.
Once I saw that happening, I knew that Nate had taken things to a whole new level of crazy, and my ripped shirt just didn’t cut it anymore, which was a little disappointing. But honestly, I’ll take a ripped shirt over poop in my hands any day, so Nate can take that prize. He was looking quite proud of himself for a moment, before Brady started to giggle uncontrollably.
To this day, we’re wondering if the clever baby had that planned all along.
We’ll never know, I suppose.
All I know is that even though it is crazy and messy and exhausting, I wouldn’t trade our lives for all the money in the world! 🙂 And THAT, my friends, is why you don’t need a class to become a good parent.
It’s all about a whole lot of unexplainable, immeasurable love… ripped shirts, poopy hands, and all! 🙂