Wednesday by Leah: Level Up!
I didn’t realize how much I’d changed since becoming a mom until I went out to dinner with my sister and baby niece the other night (sans Jonah and Mark). I was able to teach my sister the quick-change method for discretely changing diapers on the fly. Grab wipe, diaper, and disposal bag (or have big pocket available). Open clean diaper, place under baby. Open dirty diaper, wipe, remove dirty diaper with wipe inside, close and stuff in bag or pocket. Bonus points for doing this one-handed. Affix clean diaper around baby. Done! No changing pad needed! Easiest with babies wearing dresses or legwarmers, then you don’t have to bother with snaps or pulling pants on and off.
Sharing this “secret” with my lil sis made me realize I’m not such a n00b at this mom thing anymore. I’m actually somewhat seasoned! Or, to quote Mark and his nerd-speak, I’ve leveled up.
I instantly move everything on the table out of reach. No silverware, glasses, ketchup bottles in grabbing distance. I do this even when Jonah isn’t there. Woops. Habit.
My wardrobe consists of clothes that a) don’t show stains as obviously and b) have stretchy or v-neck tops that provide easy boob access. They also need to cover my armpits and legs since I’m usually rather hairy or stinky. Or both. And my Movado watch – a lovely gift from my parents – has been replaced by a rubber band so that I can pull my rarely-washed hair back when Jonah is in an extra-grabby mood. Or when I need to look a little more presentable and hide the almond butter-encrusted strands in a messy bun.
Oh, and I always have to remember to stick nursing pads in my bra because my boobs will leak when I see/hear/smell a cute baby. You know that Feed the World song? I think it was written about my boobs.
Somehow, all of this has become second nature. It’s not anything I think about anymore, I’m on autopilot. My diaper bag is packed to handle any emergency. (I used to forget some key essentials… like, uh, diapers.) I’m dressed for the day’s adventures. The almond butter in my hair and milk stains on my shirt are just part of my SuperMama outfit. It might not be magazine cover worthy, but I like the new me. Even if I’m a little stained and smelly.
And to this kid, I’m the best. The sun to the stars on his sparkly tiara. Does it get much better than that? I think not.