Remember: It’s OK to say, “What part of ‘No, I have a kid, call me in eighteen years’ don’t you understand?”
Remember when your mom told you to use her as an excuse for not succumbing to peer pressure? “Honey, if you want to get out of smoking pot, you just tell your friends that your mom is very violent and will beat you if you get high.”
Whether or not you actually used her line to, uh, “get out of” smoking pot (she was so naive), the point is, your mom was willing to be the fall guy. Now it’s your baby’s turn. Instead of telling your friends, “I can’t … my mom won’t let me,” you’ll tell them, “I can’t … the baby … ”
And you won’t even have to finish the sentence. It’s understood. The baby. The goddamn baby.
Your baby is many things: a joy, a miracle, a nonstop piss and loose stool factory. She is also a GET OUT OF THE NICKELBACK CONCERT FREE card. The greatest excuse since dogs began eating homework. All those stupid things you did because you suck at saying no? Those days are over. Your baby will give you the backbone you’ve always longed for, and she’ll do it by sucking the life out of you.
Having a baby is the female version of a rich man losing his inheritance. Now you find out who your real friends are.
It takes awhile to weed out the weak ones. They can’t comprehend how different your life is now. One invites you to see her boyfriend’s band. Another invites you to an art gallery. They will attribute your first two “no”s to temporary insanity brought on by childbirth. They’ll get suspicious around the third “no,” and by the fourth, they are gone. In their eyes, you have abandoned them. You don’t even care that Jen is banging a drummer because you’re so obsessed with your damn baby.
Well, good riddance. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, you happy, well-rested, slim-waisted Nom. And don’t come back, until you’re sallow-skinned and seven months along.
Except … there’s always that one friend who refuses to go away. It’s the friend who says, “Just bring the baby. It’ll be fun!”
Her innocence is infuriating. It reminds you of the growing distance between you and your old life. Your friend thinks it would be “fun” to bring the baby to a wine bar that has free jazz on Sunday afternoons, while you know it will be hell. Carrots, sippy cups, diapers, wipes, and a change of clothes.
At a wine bar. Fun. Ha.
End it once and for all by taking your friend up on her offer. Say “yes.” Bring your two-year-old daughter and make sure she didn’t nap. Unleash the dogs of hell that is a toddler meltdown. Let your child’s cries etch new neural pathways to the pain center in your friend’s brain. Let your friend see your life now. Loud. Exhausting. Embarrassing. Endless.
She will never suggest it again.
Remember: It’s OK to say, “What part of ‘No, I have a kid, call me in eighteen years’ don’t you understand?”