After reading this post this morning, by my fellow
StrollerDerbyist lionandmagicboy, I immediately sat down with my
computer to bang out this "counter point" post. Because although I
agree that that new baby smell is lovely and intoxicating, and those
new baby sighs and coos are music to my grown up ears, they absolutely
do not make me covet my friend's newborn baby. They have quite the
opposite effect, actually.
I absolutely love babies - I am
drawn to them like white on rice. I am that lady who snatches your
baby from you the first chance I get, then starts smelling it's neck
and kissing it's tiny earlobes. I am also that lady who, when it's
time to say goodbye, is so happy to go home to her bigger, louder,
germ-ridden, paint-smeared big kids. The kids who have bedtimes, as
opposed to that newborn need to doze on and off all day and night. The
kids who eat cereal for breakfast and roast chicken for dinner, instead
of nursing for 45 minutes every hour and a half. The kids who walk up
to me and say "I pooped!" (or better yet, the kid who just poops, wipes
and flushes with nary a word about it), rather than the tiny baby who
covers me with runny, yellow baby poop during one of it's daily
ass-plosions. Preschoolers and toddlers, despite all their bothersome behaviors, can communicate directly with you, can be counted on to entertain themselves and each other, and can follow directions. But babies, despite all their wonderful miraculousness, can't do shit. Or rather, can't do anything but shit.
When my youngest turned one, some good friends
gave birth to their second baby, Alice. You can bet I was the first
one at their house when Alice came home from the hospital, angling to
get that baby in my arms, and sniff and love and cuddle her up. But
did I envy my friends' crazy hormones, swollen boobs, post-birth daze
and sleepless nights ahead? Hell no! Even though Alice was, and is, one of those remarkably "good" babies who doesn't fuss, who smiles at everyone, who is mellow and quiet. Having a baby,
whether it's a high or low maintenance model, is SO. MUCH. WORK. And
it's repetitive, confusing work that you have to do half-blind with
exhaustion: the tiny snaps up the leg of a size 0-3 months onesie; the
nursing pads that never stay put; positioning the baby in the
sling/Bjorn/wrap; figuring out the breast pump, bottle warmer, Diaper
Genie... nothing is ever simple, because nothing ever works the same
way twice. And is that baby still crying? It's 5:00 and I haven't
showered yet! And the batteries in the vibrating bouncy seat are dead
again, and there's nothing in the house worth eating and everyone said
the weight would "fall off" but I feel so fat, and OMIGOD, this baby never sleeps, and if women have been doing this for centuries, so
why am I so fucking bad at it!?!?!?
Ah, memories. Memories make it possible for me to answer lionandmagicboy's question "Is it possible to truly enjoy your friend's baby without feeling pangs of envy?" with a thundering "YES!"
