Recently, two things happened for the first time: one, I used the term “mom brain” unironically as an excuse for something dumb I did; two, my baby said “mama.” It could have been “more milk,” or “Mad! Mad!” but this isn’t the first time I’ve passive-aggressively pretended she was yelling sweet and kind things at me, and my coping mechanisms are becoming so second nature that I don’t notice them anymore.

Besides crying when they’re hurt, tired, hungry, sad, bored, or embarrassed of you, babies don’t give you a lot of feedback at first, and I really think that’s one of the hardest parts about taking care of a newborn. Then they start to smile, and it feels like the best thing in the world. Their faces light up when they see you, and you look at them with your tired puffy eyes and think, Okay, maybe I can do this.

As your baby gets older, they start to look at other things and lose interest in you. Nothing makes W crankier than staying at home all day with me, when there are so many places to go, people to see, and things to chew on with her single tooth. While I’m glad she’s comfortable around others and doesn’t mind if someone else holds her when I finally remember I have to pee, sometimes it does make me a little insecure when I see babies who cry when their mom puts them down or leaves the room. Don’t worry guys, I’m not comparing myself to other moms -- I read an article online about not doing it and so I don’t anymore. Well I read the title but it was pretty obvious what it was about.

It’s hard to go through the everyday motions of taking care of a baby without feeling like anyone could be changing them in and out of clothes they don’t want to wear, or putting food on their trays that they don’t want to eat, and they wouldn’t even notice. And that is why it feels so special when they start calling you something, anything. You think, My baby recognizes me as a real person! I exist!

I wonder if there have been any official internet article studies done on parents who depend on their children to give their lives meaning? I'm thinking they are happier than other parents because they love their kids so much? Please send me the link. Or better yet, just give me a brief synopsis. I’m too busy living that busy mom life!

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

Hi there! My name is Libbie, and this is my daughter Winifred.

As you can tell by the bags under my eyes and the fact that my baby is wearing pajamas at a sushi restaurant, I am a young, hot, young first-time mom, and have been for eleven years... or five months, depending on whom you ask. I finally understand the theory of relativity and can watch Interstellar without having a breakdown.

Just to recap the past few months: the first few weeks were hard but wonderful, breastfeeding and colic sucked, I felt sad and lame, then we hit a rhythm where I was finally feeling better and Winifred was finally getting over feeling abandoned and totally freaking out any time I wasn’t holding her, but then she realized how dumb sleep is and I realized I was going to kill myself with anxiety if I didn’t start to “go with the flow.”

This past week, something completely magical happened. Every time she woke up at night or during the day, I was used to her screaming, “What… what… WHAT… WHAT?!” Then one day she was just like, “Oh dear, I seem to be awake now, how funny! I’ll just lie here and talk to myself for a bit.” My sweet baby went from a cranky, teething mess who spasmed between periods of unpredictable hyperactivity and unreliable sleepiness, to a delightful smiling cherub whose soft cankles sweet old women can’t help but stop and squeeze betwixt their fingers while she tells them all about her day in excited babbly squeals.

No matter how many times we go through these little growth spurts/phases/periods of hell, I keep forgetting this, so I want to have it on record for me and anyone else who needs it to remember: the baby you have this week will be gone the next. It is both comforting and sad. On the one hand, how exciting to watch them grow and play, and what a relief it is to see them learn to cope with everything they can’t do yet, and keep practicing so many new skills in such a short period of time; on the other, once they stop needing you to hold them while they fall asleep, will they ever need you for that again?

I personally have a tendency to get caught up in the stress of whatever difficult thing we are dealing with at the time, and I always feel like it will last forever. When she was first born and before we had her tongue-tie fixed, she would take an hour or two to nurse, so sometimes I would literally be nursing all day and all night. This is too much! I would think, When are we going to get to the part where it doesn’t hurt and I can do other things? How many years am I going to have to spend all day on my couch watching Project Runway re-runs? Now, she gets annoyed if she has nothing to look at but my weird boobs for longer than three minutes, and while she is so much fun and I even have time to brush my ever-thinning hair, I miss that period in our relationship when she was so content just quietly lying there on me for hours (and also, I miss Tim Gunn; what a delightful man).

It almost makes me want to have another baby so I can do it all again with the knowledge that it will end. Almost.

Every Monday, I’ll be chronicling the first year of my baby’s life. It will be short and sweet, I promise, and hopefully not make you want to break into my house, try on my clothes, raid my fridge, make a sandwich, make one for me too please, add avocado, yes I know it’s extra, steal my laptop, and run over it with your car so I can never post again.

Please don’t judge me too much, okay? I mean, a little is fine, but try to at least be nice about it. It’s what we mothers deserve.

INstagram

Twitter

worst ABOUT