6 Things Parents Don't Want to Admit

But are totally true

Years ago I met this new mom and asked her how she was doing.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s…great. I’m great!”

I could totally tell how great she was. Can you?

Yeah, lady, motherhood looks good on you!

Whenever I encounter a new mom in denial I always talk about my early-days of horror as a means to disarm and encourage sharing and commiseration in a nice, comforting circle of trust.

Surely as soon as those scared, fragile butterflies heard me wax on about surviving postpartum anxiety, a dearth of maternal instinct, and an irrational dependency on nipple shields, they would melt into my shriveled, dusty bosom and confess they too were “not handling it well.”

“There, there,” I would say, stroking their postpartum heads and watching all that luxurious pregnancy hair fall out in clumps. “It’s not you, it’s them. Babies can be real jackasses.”

But that newly met mom… that one was steadfast in her resolve to prove to me, the weaker vessel, she was really doing just great. The baby was easy! Slept six hours a night! Breastfeeding was a breeze! The meal train was fired up and leaving healthy, low-salt, gluten-free vegan casseroles on her porch every evening. What’s not to love?

I pretended to not notice her bloodshot eyes, shaky hands, and darting eyeballs. Did this mom just rob a bank or had she fallen for the new parent fairy tale?

Whatever. Some people aren’t as evolved as the rest of us.

Ten years into this parenting thing, I can say there are plenty of joyful moments. But when I see a newborn I’m immediately shot back to those dark, dark days where miserable moments flowed like snot from a nostril at a daycare¹. How I wish the me now could have befriended the sad me of yore and told me it does indeed suck, but it will get better. The old cliché misery loves company is exactly why parent support groups were created.

If any of the following thoughts have crossed your mind, rest assured you are not alone or a bad parent. Say them loud and proud because you have no idea who needs to hear them.

“We’re Not Bonding” My son was born via C-section so I entered motherhood hopped up on as many pain blockers the anesthesiologist could administer under my insurance plan. Seconds after I heard my son’s cries, I experienced that overwhelming rush of emotion. Only it wasn’t quite like how every person who attended my baby shower prophesized. No angels. No marching band. No heart-bursting or Toyota-lifting. Just flat out exhaustion. I’m talking a beaten down weariness I didn’t know was possible without wearing a sports bra and hydration belt.

I asked the anesthesiologist if I could maybe shut my eyes for a minute and then made her promise to stab anyone with an epidural needle if they tried to take my picture. And then a really terrible thought popped into my head. What if they make me hold my baby?

Oh sure, maybe it was the drugs talking, but two weeks later I was still terrified to hold him, change his diapers, or dress him in any of the organic cotton onsies I spent three months worth of gas money on. I didn’t administer any sponge baths. I could not perform a single one of the Five S’s. I barely remembered to take pictures.

“Something is wrong with me,” I told my doctor at my six-week check-up.

“You’re doing great” she promised. “It’s just baby blues. Totally normal.”

I mean, I hoped this wasn’t normal. It was a pretty shitty feeling and not one I was prepared to experience for the rest of my life! Fortunately things turned a corner but not until months later. And it wasn’t like a switch was flipped. It was small things, gradual changes. Some of us have a longer getting to know you period. Give yourself time and most importantly a break.

“Breastfeeding is the WORST!” Six lactation consultants, three occupational therapists, two acupuncturists, one cranial sacrum massage specialist, a tongue-tie expert, and a psychic all attempted to get this baby fed. My postpartum diet consisted of lactation cookies and Mother’s Milk tea. I stunk like black licorice for nine months!

Breastfeeding was a constant struggle and took a toll on my maternal confidence. If I couldn’t succeed at “the most natural thing in the world,” how would I be able to instill good values, provide healthy snacks, and come up with at least thirteen Pinterest craft projects for every holiday? But all the classes and doctors and daily emails said breastfeeding was what’s best for my baby so I persevered. I got fourteen extra Weight Watchers points out of it so it wasn’t all bad.

Looking back I realize I wasn’t doing myself or my son any favors. Guess what constantly stressing about your milk supply does to your milk supply? Weird, right? Supplementing with formula would have taken an enormous amount of pressure off myself and I could have dedicated more time to obsessing over other mom things like imagining a murder of crows carrying my baby off to their nest, or him rolling onto a downed houseplant leaf and developing an incurable skin condition, or what if our cat really was stealing his sweet, sweet breath, or...?

“I Can’t Wait to Go Back to Work” Legend has it some women are unhappy having to return to work after their maternity leave ends. Meanwhile, in a galaxy not so far away, I was texting my boss asking if three weeks was too soon to come back.

“Are you even able to drive yet?” she asked.

“No, but I’ll Uber!”

I like a schedule. I like routine. I like being able to eat my lunch with two hands. There was very little leave in my maternity leave. When I finally did emerge from my postpartum July slumber my next-door neighbor saw me and said, “I thought you moved.”

What was I so afraid of? Oh you know, taking the baby out of breast pump range, him being too cold, or hungry, or suddenly cutting a tooth, or getting a sunburn which would immediately lead to skin cancer, a bug bite, pneumonia—I mean seriously! Who are these madwomen taking babies out of their homes?

I envied my husband who got to wake up every morning after two hours of choppy sleep and deal with adults and deadlines and meetings that didn’t involve swaddling or crotch snaps². Why doesn’t he try staying home, watching Sex and the City reruns, eating cookies filled with brewers yeast, and sometimes holding a baby, huh?

Gosh, I miss maternity leave.

100% my friend Cindy will see this and immediately think of that time when we were 15 and went to see Coming to America with the hair band, Cinderella. IYKYK.

“Daycare is Pretty Much the Best Thing Ever” In week twelve of my thirteen-week leave, I started to have flashes of enjoyment. This little blob was started to notice us, dare I say even smile at us³. Sleep training was sort of working, and the lactation cookies were finally kicking in. Baby was proving to be rather durable. We even sat in the backyard sometimes.

And then it was the day I was waiting for. I was returning to work! As I dressed in my most inconspicuous pair of maternity jeans, I burst out crying.

“I can’t leave him!” I sobbed.

SIKE! I totally could. But still, not cool, Biology. Why do babies start getting cute seconds before your Outlook autoreply is set to expire?

At lunch, I checked the daycare’s Facebook page and saw a picture of my son, smiling in his bowtie onsie and cardigan, with the caption, “Today we welcome our new friend! He’s doing great!”

He was doing great??? Oh, really, kid? Just living your best life with Ms. Brenda and Mr. Eric, huh? Don’t worry about me, pumping my guts out and crying every two hours in a room that used to be our podcast studio.

But really it was the best case scenario. I never entertained for one second not going back to work and thankfully never had a moment of regret dropping my son off at daycare⁴.

We owe daycare a lot and I’m not talking about unpaid tuition payments. Our child is socialized, intelligent, and thriving because he spent his formative years in the care of trained professionals who can administer infant CPR with one hand and read The Runaway Bunny in the other.

You guys, the little folded hands, the trousers, the cardigan! I put him in red socks so the other kids would know he also has a playful side.

“Some Kids are A-holes” Breaking news: Just because you love your kid doesn’t mean you will love everyone else’s. If anything, being a parent makes you even more judgey and intolerant. Sure, I’m slightly more patient with the screaming newborn two rows behind me and more likely to commiserate rather than complain about the mom dragging her screaming toddler out of Target, but let’s face it: Some kids are just little jerks. You probably won’t like them when they’re older, so why get emotionally invested now?

“My Kid is an A-hole” Despite what the grandparents say, your child is not perfect. Some days they’re your little smoochie-moochie bear, and other days they’re maniacal, vitriolic, Mum Mums-spewing tyrants on a bender. My sweet, funny, charming squishy toddler would pinch the dog, throw his trains at the refrigerator, and demand MORE ELMO while we were ALREADY WATCHING ELMO. Some days I heard more “No’s” than a punching dummy in a self-defense class. Maybe they had a crappy night of sleep. Maybe they’re hungry or coming down with something. Maybe they’re only thirty-six months old? Or maybe, just maybe, your kid is sometimes an a-hole because they’re human and humans are prone to a-hole behaviors.

Don’t let anyone tell you what moments are worth cherishing. And don’t believe them when they tell you how great babies are. LIES! You’re better than that! Don’t fall for it. As for that new mom who kept telling me how great things were going for her? I saw her recently at an arcade. She was taking nips out of an airline bottle filled with pineapple vodka stashed in her Lululemon fanny pack, while her kid dumped his college savings into a claw machine. We’re best friends now.

1. I have a cold, okay?

2. A rare but grossly uncomfortable disease. See a doctor immediately if you are exhibiting symptoms of crotch snaps.

3. Don’t tell me it was gas! I need a win here!

4. Welllllllllll, maybe except for that one time when he may have had a tiny fever, but we didn’t have any backups and both of us needed to be in the office that day.