I should have believed them. A note for mommies.

There are things they tell you. They being every human that has had or been within 50 feet of a child in the last 100 or so years. Things that should terrify you into never having a one of your own. Except they tend to tell you these things when you're pregnant. Even better, when you're holding that brand new, perfect smelling newborn of yours.

Uhhh, too late dude. The return policy on these things sucks.

People told me to get sleep while I could.
Enjoy my alone time.
Say goodbye to my favorite restaurant.
Say hello to concealer.
Memorize what my house looked like clean cause I was never going to see it that way again.

That list look short to you? Don't worry, there are thousands more.

I would tell people “Oh I hear you. I know my babe is going to be a total nightmare.” Playful head tilt and nod. Fake scared laugh. Maybe followed by a “I just hope he isn't like me.”

But really, it was a facade. I was going to have THE BEST BABY in the world. And not because of luck either. I was going to show that baby who was boss. Are you laughing at me? If not, go ahead. I am. No really, ignore the tears. It's hysterical.

My baby showed me. This is not a letter of defeat. We're still going at it and I imagine it will be that way for the next 16.5 years. And probably another decade after that.

I just want to let all the other moms in the world know they are not alone.

For all the mamas of picky eaters, I'm right there with you. I introduced my baby to a giant variety of foods early on. He loved everything. I considered myself a parenting genius.

Not anymore. He prefers dirt over veggies. He'll take dog food before a burrito. Stuffed animals go in before any sort of meat. Right. There. With. You.

For all the moms who have babies that steal ice with a Stretch Armstrong reach (wtf?) and hurl it at the waiter. You are not alone. If your baby finds every toy and magic noise making machine completely unsatisfactory the second you walk into a restaurant, we should become best friends. If crayons are for mouths and paper menus for shredding, our children must share DNA. Did you leave dinner last night looking worse than the people crossing the finish line after an iron man? You just ran a harder race my friend.

Did you send the CEO of Spanx a three page, hand written thank you note along with a fruit basket? Did you manage to go through life with a fairly light makeup routine but now go through two tubes of concealer a month? We should plan a play date. I won't judge if you missed a spot.

Sleep. Oh sweet, sweet sleep. When your child was born and skipped that whole sleepy newborn phase, did you think there might be something wrong? When you heard of other babies the same age as yours starting to sleep through the night, did you get a glimmer of hope? When you were the last one in your due date club awake at 12, 1, 2, 3 and 4 in the morning did you start to get a wee bit resentful? When your baby hit one and you could count on your fingers the number of times s/he slept 5 or 6 hours in a row, did you start tearing up every time you heard of another mom's sleep victory? Did your pediatrician tell you that some babies just don't sleep as much as others? Did you consider punching her in the face? If so, come over. I'll make you dinner. We'll share horror stories. We have all night, right?

This isn't to say it it isn't worth it. It is. I want more. So I guess what I'm saying is that it changes you. Into a masochist.