Like birthdays, the end of a year seems to be one of those occasions where one tends to sit back and reflect on what has transpired. The year has been a wild ride – sometimes funny, sometimes not. Some things that stick out:
- Nursing – the end of an era. I don’t miss dragging the pump around, or having to pull over (or not) in the work truck to express. I’m sure my boss doesn’t, either. I also don’t miss taking my boobs out all the time. I do miss the bonding with Stella.
- If I were to go back and talk to myself 6 months ago, I don’t think I’d be nearly as anxious for Stella to walk. That really complicated things. I’m sure I’ll be able to say the same thing about talking. We’re trying to get all of our swearing out of our systems right now, damn it.
- Some things will never be the same: My boobs and my couch. Both have been baby-fied. That’s ok.
- As a parent, you really do get so much more relaxed after a while, although it is important to maintain standards. Eating Teddy Grahams off the living room floor is perfectly ok. Once a nu nu hits the floor at Wal Mart, it’s dead.
- After dragging my feet putting on maternity clothing way back when, there will be things I will never give up that are considered “maternity.” For instance, I love the cardigans and tank tops as the length works for me (no ass crack showing in the tank tops when I lean forward). I also like some of the underwear, oddly enough.
- I’m thinking about seriously reassessing my wardrobe. I’ve always been a “black” person when it comes to essentials/staples. I go for black shoes, jackets, coats whenever possible. Now, I can’t put on a jacket anymore without noticing some kind of smear on the shoulder. It’s no longer the milk vomit kind of smear, but the drool + snot + cheerio slurry that one often sees. It’s diabolical stuff, as you don’t notice it until later – like disappearing ink in reverse. I’ve left the house more than once feeling put-together and sassy only to look down and suddenly feel like a slob. I think gray may be a new basic color for me. I think that would hide this stuff well.
- No longer do I hum the Pixies or the Ramones to myself. Now my life’s soundtrack are such gems as “Sun Beautiful Sun” by the Bubble Guppies or “There’s a Party in my Tummy” by the Yo Gabba Gabba gang. Just about every task around the house seems to have some corresponding ditty to go with it. I’m so uncool, but frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.