My daughter turns one at the end of this month, and though I am excited to celebrate this milestone, there’s one thing I’m not looking forward to: losing my “new mom” excuse.
Until now, if I couldn’t remember something I should obviously know — like bringing my 4-year-old son’s snow pants to preschool so that he could go outside at recess — I could blame it on my mommy brain. Missed my friend’s birthday? The constant sleep deprivation is eroding eroded my memory! Still haven’t lost the baby weight? I gave birth just a few months ago!
But now that my daughter is hitting the 12-month mark, I don’t have the fact that I brought a human being into the world mere months ago as an explanation for my behavior. Sure, I’m still exhausted. But what parent isn’t? I’ve pretty much made it through the trenches of the first year (for the second time around) and should be able to cope with the day-to-day demands of life again, right?
This became obvious to me the other day when I was getting my hair done. I was seeing a new stylist I’d never been to before, and we were at that awkward moment where she quietly unfurls my hair, taking in all my imperfections while I watch wordlessly in the mirror. “When’s the last time you got your roots colored?” she asked, lifting up a handful of my limp, unwashed hair. “Um…a few months ago?” I ventured. “I have a new baby, “ I added. “I can barely get out of the house!”
It wasn’t until the stylist asked how old my kid was—“11 months,” I mumbled—that it dawned on me I don’t actually have a new baby anymore. I don’t have any baby. She’s a toddler.
Sigh. Things have changed. If I am 15 minutes late to an appointment now and lugging a hyper 1-year-old, I don’t get the same looks of understanding I did when there was an infant nestled in my arms (even though the latter was easier). If I let the dishes pile up to a disturbing height in the sink, I can’t tell myself it’s because I’m nursing around the clock and don’t have a minute to spare. When I’m secretly wearing my maternity sweatpants to the grocery store…well, that’s just because they’re comfortable.
My daughter’s turning one and what I’m really thinking is: I have to get my act together. I can’t ride this new mom train for any longer.
The good news is that things are getting easier—my daughter’s less fussy, more fun, and growing somewhat independent. She and my son can play together in the same room together without me worrying she’ll be fatally injured.
But my lazy tendencies aren’t going away. I don’t think I’ll ever be good at staying organized, remembering birthdays, or finishing household chores. I guess I just have to own this side of me and move on.
Still, it sure has been nice blaming my behavior on someone else!
Leah Black is the former executive editor of New York Family. She and her husband are the proud parents of Avi and Lily.
