It's so cliche, and such an understatement at the very same time, but recently I just can't help thinking about how everything changes after you become a mom or a dad. Everything.
From the abdominal stretch marks to a new-found tolerance for poop, poop on your fingers, and poop in your mouth, nothing stays the same. And with a four-and-a-half year age gap between my kids, it really kind of feels like we're going through the changes all over again.
Think about it. James came down the stairs this morning saying, "Welp. My shelf tipped over, but I caught it before it hit da floor. I picked up all the things that felled off and put 'em back where dey go. Even da snow globe didn't break." Horrifying 'what-ifs' and safety considerations aside, that's one self sufficient child we're dealing with.
And then there's Maggie. A dust bunny lands in her mouth and it's one step away from becoming a brush with death.
Anyway, I should point out, right this very second, that this isn't a 'Could it be more magically beautiful?' post, and it's not a 'My life has been sucked into a Diaper Genie!' post either. It's purely informational, no value judgements whatsoever.
This whole topic happens to be on my mind because of two experiences I had yesterday.
First, did you watch Drew Brees accept the MVP trophy at the Super Bowl last night? He was all, "This is awesome! And my baby boy is so awesome! Between this and my son, I'm having the best year ever! Isn't my son so cute?! And awesome? Thanks again for this trophy!"
I honestly think, that for Drew Brees, the best part of winning the MVP prize was having the chance to shamelessly gush about his kid in front of ten-zillion captivated viewers.
I totally get it.
And here's my second 'everything changes' moment from yesterday:
It's no secret that I've been working really hard to get into shape since Maggie's birth in October. We're talking twenty+ miles a week on the treadmill, losing one pound a week on Weight Watchers, and I don't know, perhaps I've thrown a personal trainer into the mix.
Go ahead and spit at your computer screen if you must, but I'm looking pretty good these days. (I know, I know. A girl's never supposed to admit that she feels okay about herself. Oh. Flippin.' Well.)
As of yesterday, I'm thrilled to know that I'm below my pre-James weight--and that my friends, was back in 2004 when I was 23 years old and had absolutely no idea what a hemorrhoid was. Or a wrinkle. Or a car payment. Or constipation.
I weighed in at--go ahead and swallow your coffee--197 pounds during my pregnancy with Maggie. That's right, I was walking around town in a crazy hormonal rage, yelling things like, "Outta my way, b!tches! I'm a tenth of a ton and I'm not afraid to MOW YOU DOWN!"
I was probably closer to 204 with boots on. Behold:
Okay, so that was my super long of telling you guys that Jared thinks I'm mega hot right now. I mean seriously, what would turn you on more:
A. A flabby, barrel-like woman saying, "So how do I look in these extra-large, high-waisted cotton briefs from Target?"
B. A normal female person wearing anything, doing anything, and saying anything.
That's right. Option B. That's exactly why I can stomp through the kitchen saying things like, "Ugh! I should've run away with the circus. My life would be SO MUCH MORE STABLE RIGHT NOW!"
And Jared will be like, "Really? Wanna do it?"
So yesterday morning, as we were getting ready for church, Jared playfully tossed me onto the bed and said something to the effect of (Mom, you'll hate this.), "Amy, you look so good! I can't keep my hands off you!"
And without missing a beat, and in complete seriousness, I said, "Jared, if we didn't have two kids bouncing around, and I hadn't just put on my makeup, and these sheets weren't so clean, and this exersaucer wasn't on the bed so I could vacuum, do you have any idea what I'd do to you right now?"
And Jared goes, "Holy hell, Amy. That was so hot. You've gotta stop." No. He wasn't joking.
See? Kids really do change everything.