WANTED: One Pack Of Wolves To Raise My Child

As many of you know, I became a mother exactly one month ago today. It's been a month of adjustment. Not only have I had to deal with getting used to caring for another person, but I've had to recover from having a c-section and some minor setbacks relating to it. Prior to this, I had never been hospitalized, let alone had major surgery. Heck, I hadn't even seen a doctor for about 10 years prior to my pregnancy.

But let me get back to the mothering part. Every day since that fateful day in January when I came home from lunch and took a pregnancy test more or less on a whim to determine whether or not I should go out that night, I've wondered exactly what will I do to fuck up my child. Every parent does something that will somehow scar their kid, perhaps only a little or quite possibly a lot. Usually and hopefully, this is not a deliberate act. But given my propensity for selfishness, fear of growing up and general lack of empathy at times, it's only inevitable that I'm going to somehow cause this child to need some sort of therapy someday. I find that most people can benefit from therapy. And most likely, this need was created somehow by their parents.

Here are what I believe to be my major causes:

Gross hypocrisy - You'll never guess where I'm going tomorrow. Church! That's right. My recovering Catholic ass is going to load my baby into a car seat and sit through a UCC service. Why? Because I've come to realize that while I'm still not really buying into the whole God concept, my earliest childhood memories revolve around the lessons that I learned in church. It isn't even necessarily scripture related. I just mean that it's where I learned to behave in public and tolerate a lot of bullshit (I mentioned the Catholicism thing, right?). I even learned to protest in my early teen years when the priest wanted us to sell carnations to promote some pro-life organization and I politely declined. Even back then I was pro-abortion (not even pro-choice) due to my general hatred of the human race. So while some might think that going to church is a good thing, I can't help but snicker at the fact that I seem to be doing it for all the wrong reasons. I mean, what am I supposed to tell my kid when she asks me why the unicorns never made it on to Noah's Arc?

"Well, sweetie, God just hates freaks."

Isn't that what a lot of churches teach?

Let's get back to that hatred of the human race - I'd like to think I haven't always been so bitter towards my fellow man. At some point, I'm sure I was wide eyed and accepting, never letting the faults and stupidity of others get to me. But that person disappeared and faded into obscurity much like Natalie Halloway. The fact of the matter is that I have little patience for others and I'm annoyed easily. I fear that this will be a major obstacle in teaching my child to be outgoing and how to make friends. I'm afraid she's going to be a loner because she'll pick up on my snicker when Susie speaks with a lisp or my disgust when Brandon picks his nose and eats it. What if she ends up being a snob or an elitist and alienates herself from everyone else? Or worse yet, what if she gets annoyed and angry with others?

Because my knee jerk reaction is to swear like a construction worker - Well, I do work in the construction industry. And it will be a miracle of miracles if her first word is not "twat waffle." This one requires no explanation.

When I told a college friend of mine back in June that I was expecting a girl, her first words to me where, "Oh she is going to be just like you!" Upon hearing this I beamed with delight. How bad could that be? I'm terrified of illegal drugs and have never touched them. I'm ambitious and well educated. I like to think I'm smarter than the average bear. And most importantly, I didn't get pregnant until I was 31 years old, after I had been married for over five years, owned a home, finished my MBA and was financially independent. Sure, I didn't become fully confident and sure of myself until my late 20's, but I never let anyone take advantage of me. And if they came close, they quickly lived to regret it.

I know that's not what she meant. Let's face it. I'm a bitch on wheels. And she probably will be, too. And that's ok as long as she uses it to get over obstacles rather than letting it be an obstacle itself.

And here's to hoping that she does not get my eyesight and Paul's hearing, my aptitude for math and his aptitude for English, my sleeping habits and his cleaning habits and most importantly, his love of the band Foreigner.

FAQ's From My First Pregnancy

Sorry I've been so distant lately, kids. I just don't have much to report. However, I have been getting a lot of questions regarding my little bundle of joy. So I will try to answer some of them here so that you don't have to ask and I don't have to repeat myself constantly. I love that you all care so much and truly appreciate it. But I'm starting to feel like one of those dolls that you pull a string out of its ass and it says the same thing over and over. Here goes.

How are you feeling?

Possible answers:

"Fine"

"Tired"

"Fat"

"Like I have to pee"

"Hungry"

"Like my insides are trying to escape through my belly button"

"Like kicking the next person who asks me how I'm feeling"

"Frustrated that I can't have a margarita"

The answer I will probably give you:

"Fine"

When is your due date?

September 28th is 40 weeks, although my FMLA paperwork says October 1st. But I will most likely go on any given Sunday between September 21st and October 12th during an Eagles game.

Do you know if it's a girl or a boy?

It's a girl!

Aren't you cheating by finding that out ahead of time?

Are you kidding? I read spoilers on my favorite tv shows. You think I'm going to wait nine months to find out what I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life?

Do you have a name picked out?

Yes.

Well? What is it?

I stopped telling people when my sister responded with, "You know that's the name of the ugly step sister in Cinderella, right?"

What room are you using for a nursery?

The guest room. That way, when people come to visit they can take care of her for me.

Just kidding. You're still welcome to stay and sleep on the pull out couch.

Are you going to paint the room?

Fuck no. I'm too lazy for that shit. Besides, once the market picks up, I'd like to sell the house and move the fuck out of Berks County.

You really should paint. You'll be sorry when your kid pees on the walls and you have projectile vomit everywhere. You'll never get that out of the builder's paint. Why won't you paint?

Um, first off, little girls don't quite pee on walls the same way little boys do (maybe I should consider getting a new carpet instead?). And under the projectile vomit premise, I may as well paint the whole damn house then, shouldn't I? And, genius, the reason why you're having so much trouble getting stains out of your walls is because they are colored and you can't use a Magic Eraser on them. Now that the Magic Eraser has been invented there is no reason to paint your walls if you have kids. You're better off keeping them white.

Does the baby kick?

Yes. And so do I. If you put your hand on my belly you will find out which one of us kicks on purpose.

You sure are getting big, aren't you?

Yes. Thanks, dick.

Are you sure there's only one in there?

I mentioned that I kick, right?

Are you excited?

Sometimes. Other times I'm terrified. And still other times I question if I've completely lost my mind.

How are you feeling?

Oh....shut the fu-

Fine.