Even though I’ve always wanted to be a mama, sometimes I get completely freaked out. Yesterday, we had lunch with my distant cousin, his wife and their 10 month old son. They live in a nice condo in the Valley, which is why we don’t see them more often (too far away). They say it’s rather small, but they have 3 bedrooms so in my world, it’s a decent size. As with most urban families, they are creative with space and aren’t accumulating tons of toys for the baby. We took notes.
Their son is wonderful, good-natured and smiley – despite that he was sleep deprived and had a cold. I can only imagine him on a “good” day. Since most of my friends don’t have kids in LA, it’s been ages since I’ve hung out with people with kids. When I lived in Boulder, it was part of life (of course these kids are driving and swearing now – okay, maybe not quite, but you get the idea). I’d forgotten how much EVERYTHING centers around the kid. We’d start a conversation about oh, eating gourmet meals, and then the baby would crawl off to something he wasn’t supposed to and the conversation veered back to the baby. This happened over and over and over and over and over again. On one hand it was completely fine. He’s sweet and they are good parents. But my lord, will I never be able to have a full conversation again?
Okay, I know at some point, I will leave the kid with Pete and get a respite with a girlfriend. I’m sure we will talk about mundane girl stuff and dating and food and, oh yeah, the baby. Because, let’s face it, the baby will be my life. Breast milk soaked shirts, throw-up on my shoulder. Yes, this is my future.
Already I fear the loss of me. The loss of my time (snickers from the moms reading this). As one friend already told me, the birth of our child will change me – in good ways. In ways I can’t even imagine. I have no doubt about it. No more 3 hour naps on Saturday for me, no more sex whenever we want (although the first trimester has been a libido killer), no more impromptu dinners or late walks to get tacos (late being 9pm… which might still work with an infant in a front pack).
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m selfish. I like laying around on the weekend for hours and reading a book. I like sleeping in late or having quiet time in the morning while I make a surprise breakfast for Pete (given, I can do this with a kid… I think). I’m SELFISH! MOMS CAN’T BE SELFISH!
Okay, a breath. I’m better now. I’ll admit, in between hugging and kissing their son, my cousin and his wife told us how they had no idea how much they could love someone else. She said her heart hurt with the amount of love she felt for her son. To say they gushed about their son would be an understatement. They are clearly the poster parents for parenthood. And happy? If you could can happiness and sell it, they’d be the ones to get some from.
I’m sure I’ll miss the sleep. I’m sure I’ll miss my alone time with Pete, but I’m banking on the heart swell, the overwhelming love and of course, the way my kid’s face will light up when s/he sees me. It’s the reason people keep procreating, right? It can’t just be the tax deduction.