Eight hundred twenty nine

Now I don’t mean to brag, but right before I got pregnant, I was in pretty good shape. I made sure I was. It was part of my plan. I am a big big fan of plans.

Because if I was in good shape to start with, then I would be right on track to start working out two weeks after birth and be back in perfect shape by the time my child was 6 months old.

Friends who were already deep in the love-filled trenches of motherhood gently warned me “that’s not really how it works”. But I laughed, knowingly. They weren’t me. As with all things in life and in the universe, I knew more than most.

Well, some of you out there didn’t know me then. You look at me now and think my master plan worked perfectly. I did prove all my friends wrong. Or maybe the bar wasn’t set too high in those naive pre-child days, thus allowing success to come quickly and easily. For those of you who did know me then, you know or you can see, my plan was foiled.

Is it from eating all the of leftover macaroni and cheese I said I would never serve my child?

Is it from eating entire bags of Rip-L Chips washed down with can after can of Guinness in attempts to reclaim nerves that are frayed from mentally arm-wrestling 42 inches of feisty redhead?

No. And no.

I stand here now, a result of spending the last 5 years eating my words. And here are 829 of them.

I will not talk endlessly about being pregnant.

I will not use the phrase “we are pregnant”

I will not tell people sordid details about my last prenatal check up.

I will not rub my belly in business meetings

I will not burp unconsciously and repeatedly like my dear grandma Lunny.

I will not get lost on the way to the grocery store.

I will work out 2 weeks after delivery.

I will be in great shape 6 months after delivery.

I will not let having a child change my life drastically.

I will never buy sensible underwear.

I will not wear maternity clothes.

I will not wear maternity clothes until my daughter is 2 months old.

I will not expose my boobs in public.

I will not be possessed by psychotic hormones.

I will not approach hysteria explaining my need to purchase 36 rolls of paper towels before the baby comes.

I will not let my child eat in the car.

I will not let my child eat junk food.

I will not let my child watch tv.

I will not let my child eat junk food in front of the tv in the car.

I will never let my Tupperware cupboard become disorganized.

I will not have a messy car.

I will not have toys on the front yard

My child will have no plastic toys.

I will only have 3 toys on the first floor of our house

I will not talk endlessly about my child.

I will not see a friends dismay over a bad breakup as a perfect segue to my child’s latest accomplishment.

I will not clap in the bathroom.

I will not talk to my child while I’m on the phone.

I will not put my pre-verbal child on the phone.

I will never feed my child anything but organic.

I will make all the organic food from scratch.

I will not feed my child mac n cheese.

I will not feed my child hot dogs.

I will not feed my child fast food.

I will not let my child drink juice.

I will not let my child drink pop.

I will not let my child drink water out of a bowl on the floor.

No video games, ever.

No kids singing pop songs, ever

I will never swear in front of my child.

I will never swear in front of my child in front of other parents.

My child will always have combed hair.

My child will never go to school with food on their face.

I will not be bossed around by a 1 year old.

I will never have stains on my furniture.

I will not be bossed around by a two year old.

I will never understand the attraction of mother’s little helper.

I will not be bossed around by a three year old.

I will not bribe my child.

I will not be bossed around by a four year old.

I will never willingly catch barf in my hands.

I will never not gag at the sight sound and smell of barf, just because it made someone feel better.

I would rather be awake with a crying baby than insomnia.

It won’t be a big deal if I can’t nurse.

I will not tell my mother she was right.

I will not tell my sister she was right.

I will not tell my other sister she was right.

I will not tell my friends they were right.

I will never contradict my husband's parenting in front of our child.

I will not tell my husband he was right.

We will not get a puppy until Eliza is way older.

We will not get a little dog.

I will never talk baby talk to a pet.

I will not have a girly girl.

I will not leave the house in my pajamas.

I will not buy a can of coconut milk to avoid a tantrum in aisle 3 of Lunds.

I will not learn the names of the Disney princesses.

The Wiggles will never be seen on our tv.

I will never scream “because I said so.”

I will never scream “knock it the hell off”

I will never scream on our front lawn.

I will never lick the dirt off a sucker and stick it back in my kids mouth.

I’ll never understand what new mom’s have to cry over.

I am not affected by hormones.

I will not let my house be overrun with my child’s art.

I will not think every little scribble is precious.

I will not attend a parenting class.

I will not become friends with people in a parenting class.

I will not call my mom to ask for advice.

I will not let our daughter sleep in our bed.

I will not overbook my child’s time.

I will not stress over school when my child is 2.

I will not think it’s funny when my child knows the lyrics to dirty  songs.

So that’s it. Far from a short list. But by no means a complete list. Just the ones my frail ego will allow me to recall as of today. Because when it comes to eating my words, my appetite isn’t what you would call dainty. But I have left a few on the plate.

I will never own mom brand jeans.

I won’t be an over-articulater with kids

I will never use “momming it” in sentences

I don’t find parenthood common bond enough to induce friendship.

I don’t now, nor will I ever own a mini-van

I won’t dress my child in attitude t-shirts.

I will not become one of those parents I now mock.

I will not become one of those pet owners I now mock.

I won’t assume other people at coffee shops or restaurants would be charmed by my daughters presence at their table.

I will never be an psychotic sideliner at my daughter’s sporting events.

I will not freak out if my daughter wants to someday move to Europe.

I will allow my daughter to make the same mistakes I did, because I turned out just fine.

Nope. I haven’t eaten these words. Not yet anyway. The ones I’ve already eaten have given me a bit of mental indigestion. And come to think of it, maybe that’s why, after 83 years, my grandma Lunny burped so much.

829