Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Watch the Vegetarian Eat Crow

Now that I'm in my 30s, I am thoroughly aware that I am an idiot. My teens and 20s were typical; I thought I knew everything, or close to it. But now... not so much. Or maybe it's because I've got this baby, I am painfully aware that I'm an idiot. And I happen to be in my 30s. I don't know the two facts are all that related. Although my friend, Rob, has told me numerous times that women lose brain cells after having a child. Thanks, pal.

So, my point: I thought I was smart, turns out I'm dumb. Here are just a few examples.

(BC = Before Child)

BC: I thought whiny pregnant women were annoying and kind of wussy.
NOW: It may have been some kind of cosmic justice kicking me in the face, but I spent 40 weeks-- 280 days-- either vomiting or dry heaving. And not just in the morning, Mr. Whoever-came-up-with-that-dumbass-phrase. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. If I didn't eat, however, I would dry heave. I actually lost weight. I had a million food aversions, including some of my veggie staples, like tofu and all that crap. I swelled up like a bouncy castle with an angry child trapped inside trying to punch its way out. My joints ached. I got lightheaded and dizzy. And I hated everyone and every thing. Now I want to buy pregnant people candy and flowers.

BC: Ryan and I vowed to never make poop part of any casual conversation. Note: Especially during mealtimes.

NOW: Sure, BC, we were a little uncomfortable with the way our once-normal friends nonchalantly talked about the excruciating details of their child's bowel movements. We literally told each other we'd never do this. But it all changed that very first day in the hospital. We bookmarked the chapter on "The Other End" in my Baby 411 book. We talked about color, consistency, effort, smell, size-- you name it. Every day. Not only during meals, where Ryan would take a big scoop of chili and I would talk about loose stools I had witnessed earlier in the day, but around other people without even thinking twice about it. Poop is majorly important. Apparently more important than good manners. (Or not...)

BC: Kids' music is ridiculous and unnecessary. And it sucks. Norah will listen to the Stones, Nirvana, and Sublime, and like it.

NOW: Well, I still sing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" in the shower, but it's the Yo Dazzler's version. And I bop around at work singing the theme song to Martha Speaks. And I think I heard Ryan singing "Party in My Tummy" the other day. A little embarrassing. Except for "C is for Cookie," which is classic.

BC: Kids swearing is funny.

NOW: Okay, I'd be lying if I said I didn't still think it was a little funny. But it's slightly concerning when it's your own kid who is trying to say "rock" but can't quite make the "r" sound, and instead replaces that sound with the ending sound in the same word. Long story short-- we met a colleague of mine and the first thing out of Norah's mouth was a very, very loud... well, figure it out. Stupid eye-catching landscaping that got her attention.

Those are just a few instances that demonstrate my arrogance and ignorance. More to come, as the list is virtually endless.


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