What. What Did You Just Call That?!

I knew very little about pregnancy or child-birth or actually raising children before my dumb ass went and got knocked up.  As it turns out, that was a blessing nearly as great as Mac himself.  The list of things people don’t tell you is long and nefarious.  I’ll be sharing more of those dirty little secrets as Mac’s birthday approaches. Ah, the memories.

One of the things I certainly wasn’t prepared for was the baby-induced changes that completely affected my communications and interactions with others.

The first thing I noticed was I couldn’t stand still.  If I was in an upright position, I was swaying and bouncing about.  This of course, made sense while actually holding the baby. Unfortunately, without the baby, it just appeared I was suffering from some kind of personal and disgusting itching problem.  It started just a few days after Mac was born.  Fortunately, it stopped around month seven and I can now go to happy hour without twitching around like some kind of crotch-critter infested freak.  Although, I could still pee in my pants if I’ve had three beers and sneeze.

Then there was the phone.  When Mac was really young, he could sleep through a tornado so I was able to make and take phone calls any time of day.  About month 4, he must have decided I had entirely too much leisure time and he no longer sleep through phone calls.  The ringer on my phone has been turned off since September. As a result, my severely technologically challenged Mother has learned how to text.  I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone on the phone for at least the past two weeks.

Things started developing disgustingly cute nicknames.  Mac became Huggy Bear and subsequently Hug A Boo Bear.  Diapers became Dipes.  The burp cloths he loves so much became Linuses or Wubbies or Lienees.  The Johnny Jump Up is exclusively referred to as “Big Strongs.”  When we put him to sleep for the night we make sure he is wearing an extra-padded diaper referred to as Super Dipe.  Bath time is “take a tubbie.”  The stuffed pig is Sir Oinkerston.  The unpainted rectangular blocks in his block set are called Big Beige.  Cheerios are oatsie O’s.  When Mac’s stressed out and needs his Sleepy Wrap, we “snugs up.”

It’s gotten so bad, that I sincerely believe any normal outsider observing a discussion between my Husband and me would have no fucking clue what we were referring to 70% of the time.  Allow me to demonstrate:  “Hug A Boo Bear was in big strongs for about 15 minutes and then we took a tubbie.  I put him in a super dipe and gave him a Lienee and he went right to sleep.  We didn’t even have to snugs up.  Oh, big beige and Sir Oinkerston are wedged under the kitchen cabinet again.”

Wretched.  I know.  Especially if you knew what the reading and language portion of my SAT score was.  

My knowledge of current events is gleaned exclusively from Twitter.  We seldom turn on the TV.  I certainly don’t have time to read the Post everyday or The Atlantic Monthly any longer.  I try to listen to NPR while making dinner but I’m usually so distracted by the kid, Meeeeee-chelle Norris just becomes more background noise.

I leave this house looking and occasionally smelling like Pig Pen.  Look, it’s all I can do to get myself, gear, and kid out the door.  If my teeth are brushed, I’m socially acceptable for a walk in the park.  If you don’t care for my sour banana smelling, paint splattered T-shirt, avert your eyes.  I realize I am likely two walks shy of being ambushed by What Not To Wear but I just can’t justify putting on a blazer and cute wedges to have the kid spew applesauce or urine all over them on a daily basis.

Even Email has been compromised.  I used to respond to emails nearly instantaneously.  Now, it can be days before I write back.  It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m often too pre-occupied to organize a complete fucking sentence and when I’m not, I’m likely asleep.

For the aforementioned reasons, my conversation skills suck.  If I’m alone with other adults, I’m relishing the quiet.  I don’t want to ming it all up with small talk.  If I’m in the presence of other adults and Mac is with me, I’m too focused on him to concentrate fully on the conversation.  This is probably a good thing, because I’d probably only be conversant on the subjects of super dipes and the location of Sir Oinkerston anyway.

Biggest surprise?  Mac makes becoming a nearly non-social, poorly groomed, dumbed down version of myself completely worth it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, we need to grab a Wubbie and snugs up.

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10 thoughts on “What. What Did You Just Call That?!

  1. …so glad I read this post! So funny! So true! So sad that my life is still like this three years after the birth of my last child!
    How about these: Nobody ever tells you that your house is never EVER as clean as it used to be before you had kids. You turn into your mother more and more as the days go by. You die a slow death every time a friend with no kids invites you out for a spontaneous weekend in Vegas (like you can just leave a bunch of formula and opened jars of Gerber strategically around the house while you’re gone). You never sleep soundly (every cough, sneeze, and fart send you running for the Vaporub). I loved this post! Can’t wait to read more (a cry a bit as I relate).

    • Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed the post.

      You comments hit the nail on the head! ALL OF THEM! The other day I put Mac in his pac n play so I could take out some trash. I could hear him doing this quiet little whining and all I could think as I wrestled with the trash can was “I’ll give you something to whine about, kid” Which is something my own Mother said to us at least 6 times a day (of course she never did) I was planning a future post about how I’m turning into my mother!

      I’m cracking up at the idea of leaving some jars of baby food around like you would for a pet while we run of to Vegas!

  2. Hilarious, you’ve just described my life perfectly but you mad it look much funnier than it sometimes feels.
    When Livi was little and we went shopping, I would catch myself rocking the shopping cart back and forth as if it were the stroller. Talk about looking nuts in public.

    • I’m sorry you can relate (ha) but glad you enjoyed it! I still do the same thing with the shopping cart! Although now I notice that I’m so used to the placement of stroller wheels (which are not in the same spot as cart wheels), that I keep ramming my feet into the cart. I’m probably going to have “broken toe” to add to my list of stuff other parents will never tell you. 🙂

  3. Can totally relate! Might I also add that I have become really good with typing blog posts, forum posts and emails on my tiny iPhone keyboard using one hand as I’m nursing. Of course I freak out occasionally wondering if I’m exposing my kid to too much radiation so young and as I’m typing this now I might retire the phone when nursing for awhile. When did I become somewht of a hypercondriac?

    • Kid’s will make you think and do all kinds of whacky things! The phone is probably fine though. When I look back at all the things I did and was exposed to as a child, it’s remarkable I’m still alive (by today’s standards). Ha!

  4. All that baby talk is the worst! My husband swore he would NEVER use the word tummy, and now we BOTH say it all the time. Also, in our house, everything cutesy has to be doubled. You can’t just snuggle; you have to “snuggle snuggle.” :/

    • Tummy! Ha! A few years ago, we had a sick cat. Took her to the Vet (who had recently had her first child) and when we were discussing the cat’s condition, the Vet kept discussing the cat’s “Tummy.” My Husband and I thought it odd that she kept referring to the the cat’s digestive tract as her tummy and wondered if she thought perhaps we were some kind of idiots. It all makes perfect sense now! Ha.

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