Motherhood | Guest Post

A couple of months ago, I found my Instagram wife. Every.single.post. makes me pee with laughter. It was a natural transition, forcing her to guest post for me. 

Ladies (and maybe like 3 gentleman), I give you Janey. 

Wife to a man with a chiseled jawline, mother to Brooks + Bear, sarcasm linguist, caffeine enthusiast, Occupational Therapy by day, ghost writer by night, COPS rerun marathoner by weekend. Navigating the tear filled pools of motherhood one closet scream and irreverent post at a time.

The first time I became a mother I was 19, in a marriage about as bad as Sharknado 2, and had

no prior child rearing experience beyond lovingly holding my several nieces and nephews while

secretly praising the gods above for my baby-less uterus. Needless to say, I was ill-prepared

and had no real “vision” for how the whole child-raising business would go.

This actually worked well to my advantage. I had no expectations of beautiful moments breastfeeding where my child would longingly gaze up at me with big brown eyes and let out sweet whimpers of gratitude, or silly dreams of cloth diapering and making all organic, vegan, GMO-free, baby food using only produce that fell off the tree within the past 24 hours. No, I actually didn’t give two horses asses whether I gave birth to the latching type of baby or the formula fed kind and let’s be real; I

bought whatever baby food was on sale at Targ. Don’t get me wrong, that first go ‘round was still

a crap storm of massive proportions, but this time, with my second child, I considered myself a

seasoned vet of newborning, so my high expectations of being June Cleaver (with Gisele’s body,

of course) the moment that sucker popped out, failed me in the most soul crushing way.

With 5 weeks as a newborn mama under my belt, I’ve found myself a greasy, sleep-deprived,

chapped-nipped, mascara-smeared mess. Every night, I say a silent prayer to every god I can

think of - the standard run-of- the-mill Christian God, Allah, Buddha (is he even a god? I’ve

never really been clear on that…) - that my child will, for once, give me a stretch of 3 hours of

sleep. THREE HOURS. I’m not even making deals with the devil for a full night’s rest; all I want

is 3 sweet, sweet, uninterrupted hours of deep, REM sleep.

How. Freaking. Pathetic. 

What happened to all the beautiful moments I had envisioned? The ones where I would wake calmly

in the night, my blonde rootless hair still in perfect waves from the day before - the day before

when I had ample time to blow dry my hair, line my eyes, and construct the perfect chic, yet

nursing friendly outfit - glide over to the bassinet where my child would be sleeping soundly,

unhook my floral nursing nightie, and softly raise my baby’s lips to my totally normal-looking

nipplem smiling as he obtained the perfect latch.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT?

And how about my bod? Why does my stomach sag like droopy puppy eyes, and my ass look

like a topographical map of the Grand Canyon? Let’s not even get started with my boobs. Why,

please tell me why, I have now mothered TWO boys who are left boob lovers only? This freak

phenomenon has left me with a lefty that looks like Pamela Anderson, and a righty that’s more

Anderson Cooper. The only thing these two breasties have in common is a love of leaking at

socially awkward times, and having nips that feel like they were shoved through a meat grinder.

I mean I guess both nips also look like they’re straight out of a National Geographic magazine

too so there’s that. Mmmmhmm,  I bet my husband just can’t wait to get his paws on me again.

BLANK STARE.

But luckily, for sleep-deprived, lopsided-boobed moms everywhere, there is hope yet. When the

nights are especially long, and the mirror is especially depressing, there is always the sweet

nectar of the gods (caffeine) to help pull us through…oh…wait… NOPE. Because as a

breastfeeding mama energy drinks and high levels of caffeine are strictly off limits. I mean, who

would even think about downing all those crazy chemicals found in energy drinks with the risk it

could pass through to your sweet new baby?

*Nervously looks side to side and sweats like a pubescent boy in a locker room*.

Let’s be up front about something real quick. I love caffeine. L-O-V- E love it. Ya know when people complain about how when they drink too much caffeine they get a nervous jittery feeling, where it feels like their heart is about to beat out of their chest and they’re talking a million miles a minute? Ya that’s the feeling I want 24/7. Give me two of those, on the rocks, right now. So let me breakdown the equation of newborning for you real quick. Crying baby + No Sleep - Meth-like feeling from caffeine = What. In. The. Actual.

So why, why, do we do it? Why do we as women sacrifice our bodies, our physical and

emotional well-being, our Red Bulls for goodness sakes, to be mothers? Because, if I’ve learned

one thing in the past month of newborning and 7 years of being a mother, it’s that there is no

greater role in this world, no better use of our time, no more rewarding job than being a mom.

The love between a child and their mama is unmatched, and I would gladly trade a thousand

hours of sleep for just one second of my sweet newborn boy staring up at me like I hung the

moon. It’ll be months, maybe even over a year, before my tiny babe can talk, but yet there is no

doubt in my mind that, in those quiet hours of the night when I’m rocking him back to sleep, he’s

saying “I love you mom” again and again and again.

So for that, I would give anything, even Red Bull.

Follow Janey on Instagram to get your daily dose of sass, sarcasm, and sacrilege. You won't be disappointed.