Unsolicited Advice

Hey, y'all - 

My cousin Reed is pregnant with her first baby. Her shower is this weekend, which I won't be able to attend because we live in Montana and it seems like it costs $5,000 to get anywhere east of Salt Lake City. I immediately shipped her a big box of diapers. (Childless friends give cutesy cloth diaper "cakes" with tchotchkes stuck in 'em. Friends who are parents give big boxes of actual diapers, because they know what's up.) 

As I was putting together a gift basket for the shower of useful items, I took the opportunity to think back to the two occasions when I was a mother of a newborn. To be honest, it feels like a lifetime ago. There was so much I couldn't even remember - I remembered being tired, for sure, but not much else. I even went back and read old blog posts to see if it would help. 

It started to come back to me. 

I decided to write Reed a letter and include it with her gift. I'm pasting it below, because I don't think she'll mind. 

________________________________________

Dear Reed,

Congratulations on your impending arrival! In honor of this momentous occasion, and in light of my recent parenting experiences, I went to the store and picked up a few things I thought you might need:

ONE OF EVERY KIND OF PACIFIER TARGET OFFERS - Each baby seems to like one - and only one - brand of pacifier. They have the brand loyalty of a 1950s housewife. Try to give them another brand and they will literally spit at you. Babies are such assholes opinionated gifts from the Lord.

A TINY SCREWDRIVER SET - Every baby toy or appliance ever invented requires a Phillips head screwdriver so tiny it could also be used to repair eyeglasses or adjust the setting on the Hope Diamond. Now you're ready.

“D” BATTERIES - The size your swing takes. One day, your swing will die and you will love me SO MUCH. 

BABY MEDICINES, ASSORTED - Because babies only get sick when it’s 2am and it will somehow be your husband’s fault that Walgreen’s isn’t open. I’m including these for Ned. 

A BOOK LIGHT - Because when you’re breastfeeding in bed in the middle of the night, just a teeny little light is all you need to make sure everything’s going okay and keep the baby sleeping peacefully. Remind your husband of this when it’s his turn to feed the baby and he turns on every light in the house and stomps around like it’s a disco dance party. This will later become one of your baby’s favorite toys: “I just blinded myself for a second, and it was AWESOME.”

MY PERSONAL COPY OF PAJAMA TIME - I read this to each of my kids 57,648 times. Actually, I “read” it three times, then just started reciting it. There’s something about this book in particular that they found oddly hypnotic. If you ever need a five minute break, give me a call. I will be happy to use my advanced theatre degree to do a dramatic interpretation of this book via speakerphone. 

AND NOW, SOME UNSOLICITED ADVICE (The best kind!) - 

You will hate your husband for the first 6 months or so of your child’s life. This is not a joke. This is normal. His boobs are useless. He doesn’t do things exactly how you would do them. If he were hired help, you would fire him. But you can’t. He means well. Don’t have him killed. You might need him later.

Don’t invite anybody to your house for the first three months of your baby’s life that you’re not 

comfortable being topless around, because sometimes putting on a shirt is too damn hard.

Friends will come over and visit with you and the baby. REAL friends will come over, not speak to you, leave a casserole on the counter, unload your dishwasher, and leave. Feel free to forward a copy of this letter.

Your parents will want to come over and babysit so you can have “a fun night out on the town!” This is sweet, but stupid. It’s been so long since they had a newborn they don’t remember that the last thing you want to do is get dressed up. Or move. What you’ll REALLY want is somebody to come over and take the baby away from the house so you can lie down and watch America’s Next Top Whatever in silence. Feel free to forward a copy of this letter.

It’s okay to stand in your kitchen with balled-up fists and scream “THIS SUCKS!” because sometimes, it does. It’s also the greatest thing ever. Both can be true at the same time, even. 

When you’re not holding your baby, you will find yourself rocking back and forth anyway, like a nut with an inner ear imbalance. This goes away. 

The first time you have a sitter and you leave the house without your baby, you will feel like an amputee…as if you’re suddenly missing your favorite appendage. I cried in a four-star seafood restaurant in Spokane because Laney was 6 weeks old and half a mile away. The waiter asked what was wrong, and I sobbed, “It’s my anniversary…” This is normal. I mean, it’s crazy, but it’s normal. 

Do not read the comments on parenting websites. Nobody knows your baby like YOU know your baby. Humanity is a crazy, judgmental mass of hysteria, and it hangs out on babycenter.com.

Someone far wiser then me once said, “Parenting is made up of the longest days and the shortest years.” Man, is that true. 

Everything you say you would never do, you will. And it’s okay. Despite your fine southern upbringing, in less than a year you’ll be asking the cashier at the grocery store to ring up a stack of empty containers of food your child has already eaten on the way to the check-out stand. 

At some point, you will walk through a doorway and accidentally whack your baby’s head against the doorjamb. Everybody’s done it. No one admits it. Kids grow up smart, anyway. 

If you can, keep in mind that the thing you are freaking the hell out about right this minute (and you should! parenting is HARD!), you might not remember a few months from now. I spent a lot of time crying over my C-section, failed breastfeeding, etc., and then yesterday I went to Target and stood in the middle of the baby section and honest to God didn’t remember what half that stuff is used for. Now I’m on to field trips and boxed lunches and cheering for my first grader in the role of Snow Chicken #4 in the school play. Perspective. 

Call me. 

Love,

Brooke