That’s how I would describe motherhood.
It doesn’t matter how many ways someone tries to explain it to you or how empathetic of a person you are…… at the end of day, you simply don’t have a F’ing clue how your perspective changes with a Little One.
A few random examples:
Just last weekend, I had to travel for work and be away from Baby O for the first time since giving birth. No big deal, right? I mean, I was without child for the first 34 years of my life. Surely, a couple of nights away is a non-issue. Heck, I should relish the alone time – the opportunity to take a leisurely bath, eat a complete meal sitting down, get a full night’s rest…..
The night before my flight, I had an ugly cry while nursing her…..you know, the sobbing, hiccuping, snotty, puffy red-eyed cry. I couldn’t stop smelling her hair and telling her that I loved her – and that I’d be back as soon as I could. WTF? I wasn’t dying, but I sure felt like I was. My poor hubs….No wonder he won’t engage in a conversation with me about having another…. I am literally starting to tear up again just thinking about it………
And then at the airport – I never realized that there are children EVERYWHERE. Had I simply not noticed them before? [I was that girl that would go up to your dog before your child.] Of course, it didn’t help that my destination was Orlando, Florida – the home of the Happiest Place on Earth. FML. Both my eyes and my boobs leaked. (For non-moms, hearing other babies cry can apparently cause your milk to erupt from your nipples like tears).
I also never realized how unwelcome society can be to nursing moms. I obviously didn’t have my baby so it wasn’t like I was trying to breastfeed in public or anything (which for the record, I have no problem with), but why is it so hard to find a place to pump that is not a disgusting public bathroom that smells like $#!% or urine?! The Orlando airport had “companion care” rooms – which at first glance, seemed like a winner. The rooms had a diaper-changing table, a bench, a sink and an ADA-compliant toilet. But again, it was a room that reeked of human waste. I am not trying to be a diva, but I don’t want to make food for my baby where $#!% particles are floating in the air (this is not a myth, Google it if you don’t believe me). I ultimately had to endure the pain and just wait ‘til I got to my hotel room/home to pump.
Not cool, Society, not cool.
*By the way, SHOUT OUT to LOVE FIELD AIRPORT! There is a nursing room with a sink to wash your hands or pump parts and comfy chairs. I wonder who were the compassionate masterminds? BLESS YOU.