Monday, March 24, 2008
So I am home sick today and have been watching "A Baby Story" on TLC and at least one of the bastardized versions of the show called "The First 36 Hours" or something like that. It's all about how truly awful it is to have an infant. Because it really is.
So I've been watching these women, who are huge, get epidurals and eat ice chips and look sweaty and gross really, push these tiny things out of their bodies (whose idea was THAT anyway!?) and at least once it's made me feel like I was going to cry.
The next show -- the 36-hour one -- showed the tired, tired parents wiping poop over and over again. From the baby's brand-new bottom, from the pink blanket with tiny flowers and bunnies and chicks, from their HANDS.
It showed the still-tired looking woman breastfeeding. And, of course (because this just must be the way you have to do it), a slew of relatives and friends (and neighbors, for crissakes), stood around with odd smiles on their faces. Just watching.
I am not sure why I am watching these shows.
Perhaps, it's that masochistic nature in all of us that makes us want to relive fairly painful, awful times in our lives? Is that the same reason people videotape their baby's birth, the actual coming out of the canal shot? Is that why we sign up to run MORE marathons?
Or maybe it's because, despite all of the aforementioned awfulness, I want to have another baby.
Rye recently discovered Star Wars, thanks to YouTube. Being in love with good and evil anyway, he is now obsessed. When he pooped in the potty for the first time ever at home on Friday, we rushed immediately to Target where he could have a toy of his choosing (less than $9.99, but I didn't tell him that). He chose a small, black, rather scary Darth Vader action figure. He fell asleep that night with it clutched in his right hand. Yesterday, the Easter bunny brought him a light saber ("Take that, Darth Tater! Cha!"). Ah, ecstasy.
This is just one anecdote of my beautiful, lovable, don't-know-what-I-would-do without little boy.
Sometimes, he'll put his face close to mine and say, "Mom?"
Me: "Yeah, Rye?"
Rye: "I love you."
So, I realize, it's worth it. Growing huge, looking awful, waddling instead of running, the OMFG pain and the endless tiredness. It's all worth it.
Now, if I can just talk my husband into that again.