I want the instruction manual that was supposed to come with my kids.
I also want to know why I was never allowed to register my kids to receive a longer warranty.
Ya know, you bring home this soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle and you think “Wow, he’s all mine.” And that first night you start looking around for the missing manual.
Its nowhere to be found.
Still, you think “I can do this”, so you stick it out. Little do you know that he’s prepping his lungs because- like any other muscle- he knows that if you don’t use it, you lose it.
You tell yourself “At least he’s healthy” and then its “Wow, do his lungs really inflate THAT MUCH?”.
Then after awhile you find yourself sleep deprived muttering useless things like “Now, now. There are coyotes in 3rd world countries that don’t have lungs as strong as his”.
Doesn’t make much sense, huh?
Did I mention “sleep deprived”?
As you continue to rock this child (secretly starting to wish that you could rocket him into orbit) it hits you that you’ll never be able to give him back.
You think about calling the hospital and asking about the return policy, but you remember how they gave a nervous chuckle when you joked about taking one of them home to help out, and you think better of it.
You console yourself with the fact that he won’t always be this age- needing you so much. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Suddenly you’re looking at this CHILD who isn’t a BABY anymore and you find yourself thinking “He’s not a baby anymore. He doesn’t need me at all.”
From somewhere in the distance you hear a subtle ticking.
As it gets louder and louder, the logical side of your brain tells you “Run!!! Run while you have the chance and don’t look back!!!”
Yet you reminisce about the soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle you brought home from the hospital.
You don’t stop to think about why hospitals have decidedly short stay times for new moms.
Baby with colic?
No problem- he’ll be going home in 1 DAY!!
As the ticking becomes the only sound you hear, the logical side becomes less of a yell and more of a pitiful whimper in anticipation of what’s to come.
For months you hear nothing but joyful thoughts of cribs and play pens.
And then it happens.
Your blessed first born starts to realize that he isn’t going to be the only one, and the acting out begins.
Suddenly, the logical side of your brain wakes up from the self-induced coma and starts to wail- too late.
Now you’re back at the beginning, and its not so bad.
The labor wasn’t THAT difficult- now that its over.
And he’s just this tiny, little, helpless thing.
A sweet scent of baby powder.
Oh, poor baby… he’s crying…