Friday, October 5, 2007

Glamour queen- that's me!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: being a mommy is soooo glamorous! To start with one has nine whole months in which to get fat, stretched out, and be-pimpled. In an attempt to keep the growing baby nice and toasty warm the body starts to sprout an attractive extra supply of dark hair over the belly to mingle with the bazillion stretch marks that herald that the end is approaching and if one’s middle were to stretch anymore the baby would proceed to exit the womb where one’s belly button used to be.

Indeed, there will probably never be a time in which one has so much indigestion, nausea, and sciatica. One either wants to eat everything or nothing at all. This is the time when the husband realizes that the woman he married is a human being after all as she begins to burp and, yes, even break wind. Of course the man usually wears a shocked and disgusted expression at this exhibition of bodily functions. :::Gasp::: How he can have the nerve be grossed out is beyond my level of reasoning since a wife can remind her husband to excuse himself upward of two dozen times a day.

Not to be forgotten, all of this fun eventually culminates in the real pleasure of pregnancy: delivery. What more can a woman ask for than to have her restricted area stared at by not only the doctor, but the nurse, medical student, nursing student, resident, various members of her family, the guy paving the sidewalk, the flower delivery person, the whole housekeeping department, a handful of volunteers, and the coffee guy… Well, one gets the idea. Oh, joy! During the time it takes the offended bodily regions to recover from the beating, there is always the thrill of tinkling when one sneezes to look forward to.

And then, ahhh, home at last! Home is where one finds that the name, mommy, is synonymous with poop checker/butt sniffer. Home is where (at least one hopes it’s home) a mommy finds herself cleaning up number two off of the baby’s chair, the carpet, and rinsing it out of the baby’s clothes; giving impromptu baths, and doing unscheduled laundry. Of course these events can be blamed on diaper malfunctions at times, but the result is still similar: clean up, wash out, bathe, launder. Home is where one can find burp diapers stashed in key places- tucked into the couch cushions, placed on the table, next to the bed, under the bed, in the refrigerator, in the toy box, on a hook in the hallway- in preparation for the moment when the baby decides to show his or her affection toward mommy for the thirty minute feeding by throwing up all over her.

At any rate, it’s the only job I know of where one gets paid in hugs, kisses and “I love you”s; where the little people look for mommy to make their boo-boo’s better, and need mommy around to hold hands when sick. A piece of advice: if someone other than a little person offers to pay for services in hugs or kisses it would be wise to decline. Giving free advice is something else that mommies do.

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