Dear Eager Visitor of My Newborn,
I am so delighted that you are coming over to meet the newest addition to our family!
Now, while you may think this is just like any other trip to my house, it is not. You are entering into dangerous and emotionally unstable territory.
Therefore, I am providing you with a few DO’s and DON’Ts which I hope you will take into consideration prior to your upcoming visit. These are merely suggestions meant to prevent a potential meltdown and temper tantrum…from me.
DO NOT harass me with repeated phone calls, emails, texts and smoke signals begging to visit. One text message and/or voicemail is sufficient. If I have not responded, it is probably because my phone is out of reach/cannot be heard over a screaming infant/fell into the toilet or I am busy feeding baby/sleeping (HA!)/trying to figure out WTF is going on.
DO NOT complain or be offended if you do not hear back for weeks. I promise I will get back to you…eventually.
DO NOT ring the doorbell. I repeat….under no circumstances shall you ring the doorbell.
DO NOT expect me to look presentable. Chances are, I will look/smell like I just spent the past month smoking crack in a dumpster behind Arby’s…do not point this out to me. Instead, offer to take care of the baby so I can shower, shave my armpits and put on clothes that aren’t covered in unidentifiable fluids.
DO NOT judge the condition of my house. If it looks like it was vandalized, don’t worry…it wasn’t. At least I do not remember that happening. I’m pretty sure my Eau de New Mom stench would scare off potential burglars anyway. And if you are THAT concerned about the state of disarray, a housekeeper makes a great gift (hint hint).
DO wash your hands and/or use anti-bacterial before touching or handling the baby. If you or your kids are sick, stay the hell away. This should be self-explanatory.
DO NOT bring a gift. If you do, make it something practical – diapers, wipes, bibs, a full-time nanny. While it may be tempting to purchase an adorably tiny newborn ensemble, I cannot guarantee that said adorable outfit will make it onto my child’s body before he/she outgrows it. Therefore, don’t get mad if it is re-gifted at the next baby shower…along with a box of diapers. I’m pretty sure EVERY mom will do this at least once in their life.
DO bring food. Seriously. I don’t care if it’s your half-eaten tuna sandwich from yesterday’s lunch. Do not be alarmed if I sob uncontrollably while inhaling it…it’s a combination of overwhelming gratitude and starvation delirium.
DO come in groups of at least two but no more than four. There’s a good chance that I will not be much of a conversationalist. My brain currently resembles scrambled eggs and I have been known to fall asleep mid-sentence. Therefore, if you bring someone along, you can talk amongst yourselves while I check out for a few minutes.
DO NOT let me stand up to fetch anything. In case you forgot, my vagina was recently slaughtered. The simple task of getting off the couch to answer the door, find the remote or go to the bathroom is a dreaded and painful experience. The only thing the hospital sent me home with that is almost more precious than the baby itself, is the inflatable ass donut that I will sit on for a solid seven weeks.
DO NOT become concerned if I disappear to the restroom for an excessive amount of time. And do not hover outside of it like a bouncer after seeing three girls go into the same bathroom stall at a club. The reality is that all potty trips will take me at least nineteen minutes. Why? Because that’s how long it takes to slowly lower myself onto the toilet, remove my blood soaked adult diaper, repeatedly refill a peri bottle with warm water to squirt onto my lady parts, clean up resulting puddle of water around the toilet from my lack of aim, pat myself dry with baby wipes while twitching in pain and praying that the stitches don’t open up, drown my nether regions with Dermoplast in hopes that temporary numbness will be achieved, make another “underwear sandwich” consisting of a supersized maxi pad + Tucks + ice pack, hoist myself up off the toilet and adjust four pounds worth of crotch protection into position. And that’s just for a #1. If, you happen to be there while the urge to make my first postpartum bowel movement strikes, then just turn the volume on the television WAY up and ignore the screaming.
DO help yourself to whatever is in the fridge, cupboards, medicine cabinet. As stated above, it hurts to move. Also, I am too disoriented to be on top of my hostess game. Chances are I haven’t drank or eaten in 24+ hours, so it’s hard for me to remember to offer those luxuries to my guests. Please just take what you need. Mi (disaster of a) casa es su casa.
DO offer to do laundry. In fact, don’t even ask. Just check the washer/dryer and proceed as needed. I used to be weird about having other people handling my underwear. Now, I will tongue kiss anyone willing to fold some whites.
DO NOT be offended by anything I say while I am a sleep deprived, hormonal sh*t show. I apologize in advance.
DO listen to me cry and/or vent. Bonus points if you can share similar stories that will convince me I am not crazy for wanting to stab everyone from my husband to the mailman. Agree with everything I say, EXCEPT….
DO NOT, under any circumstances, agree that I should cut my hair. I may say things like, “I should totally cut my hair really short. It looks so cute on [enter name of gorgeous celebrity who has a team of people tending to her beauty regimen] and it would be so much easier to take care of.” Do not encourage me. Fact is, around six months postpartum, most women suffer from extreme hair loss. I want to enjoy my Rapunzel-like mane while it lasts. Soon enough, I will be hoarding massive chunks of hair found on my brush/pillow case/bathroom floor and making a weave out of them. Therefore, if you have any part in helping me make a rash decision to hack my hair off before my hormones have chilled out, you will end up #1 on the list of people I want to stab.
