*not my picture,I don't post my face anywhere online, and I especially wouldn't post Princess Monkey Butt anywhere, either.
You know, I never thought chapped nipples and sleep deprivation would ever be something I would have to simultaneously tough-out and push-through, but this whole experience through pregnancy and now post-partum has been nothing short of Murphy's Law. It would also be nice if the haemorrhoids could also back the f*** up every once in a while. But, honestly, you know what it makes me feel, my dudes? It kicks me square in the butt to call my mother and profusely apologize for inflicting any similar grievances. I've never appreciated my mother as much until I became one, myself.
Your whole world changes, guys. It's crazy. It's especially frickin' weird as heck when you look at your kid and you realize (in your sleep-deprived dither) that you actually MADE THAT PERSON inside of your body and that, also, YOU CREATED A WHOLE ORGAN TO SUSTAIN ITS LIFE WHILE INSIDE YOU and then you start thinking.
And you find yourself awake, at 3 am. Exhausted. Staring at your babe's face. Hearing them snore. That little human that you made and went through the actual I-sht-you-not the WORST pain of your life to bring them into the world. That little person who looks completely like their father and not like you at all (save for your feet and hands, which you're pretty satisfied with because they are dainty AF.)
Like this, this is what I call the Wonder Phase. I go through it like 148795817 times a day. Even when she farts. I'm like "I made that butt that just farted what the heck".
It's cool, ok?
You marvel at their nose hairs (or back hairs. My kid is REALLY hairy, ok? We don't call her Princess Monkey-Butt for no reason, homies).
You literally COUNT their heckin' eyelashes. And then bring it up in every subsequent conversation you have. "Oh, you know what, Mum?? She's got thirty-seven on her left one, and like I think 42 on her right because she's got the extra one on the top lid and I think a few on the inside of her tear duct. Like her dad does. So cool". And you suddenly develop a stomach for dealing with faeces. Poop has never made me happier. Wiping a poopy butt has never been more enjoyable. Cleaning lint from between the folds in someone's skin has never been more rewarding.
Every time she cries, I feel grateful.
When you're a mother, you hold onto every little thing they do with their little bodies, you hold on to each movement. Sometimes, I feel ashamed for sleeping. When, you know, I actually sleep. I live for the little whistle her nose does when she breathes in and there's a booger trapped inside. I love the sleep-smiles. The smiles. Nothing is greater, in the whole wide world, than the smiles. When that milestone hit with PMB (Princess Monkey Butt), I felt a wave of relief. Like affirmations that I was doing the right thing. Me, as her mother, was enough to make her smile as soon as she woke up. It made me feel guilty for every time she had woken me up and I wasn't smiling. Sometimes, I get scared that she doesn't think I love her. Or that she will never love me because she thinks I'm a shtty mom or something. But then I remember that if I look down, there's a 99% chance that my kid is asleep on me because she refuses to sleep anywhere else because I'm the only thing that feels safe to her.
Motherhood changes you in a lot of ways, but mostly, the way you know and understand love.
Today, 'love' is my daughter feeling safe enough to fall sound asleep on my lap.