Mommyisms of a 23 year old

The past week has left me up all night for several nights. Writing is my outlet, and for some reason, mommyhood was on my mind the past week or so. Here's some brutal honesty from a 23-year-old mother of two (under three!):

First of all, I cannot stress this enough: If you are a parent, just because you are young doesn't mean you get to act like it all the time. I'm twenty-three years old, but I have a husband and two toddlers. That's not the same twenty-three as the single recent college graduate with no responsibilities. When you're single, or even just married, you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. No hassle, no one to answer to or worry about. You are Numero Uno. The minute you decide to have a child, that child is the only thing in the world that matters anymore. Like, at all. You have another life to worry about. And you have to grow up. Fast. You owe it to your baby to make them the center of your life. That's where they belong. You live for nothing else except that life growing inside you, and later, the life and person that you brought into this world.


Having a baby changes everything, no matter if you're trying to get pregnant or not.
If you're considering mommyhood, you need to think about a few things before you go volunteering your uterus to act as an oven for the next 40 weeks.

Ladies, you need to make sure you see past the cute nursery decor ideas and the adorable newborn photoraphs on Pinterest. It's not all bows and ribbons and cute frills. My best friend thought that she was ready to be mom... until she became one.

You need to smell a bottle that rolled under the car seat two weeks ago that you just didn't see. Or change a diaper that should have been changed thirty minutes ago, but you ran out of diapers in the car and had to wait until you got home, but by then it was too late.

Stay up all night with a baby that's crying and you have no idea what to do to make her stop. Trade shifts with your grumpy husband, then start crying because you're both snapping at each other because you haven't slept in days.

Carry an infant carrier with you everywhere you go for a year. EVERY time you get out of the car. EVERY time you go in the house. EVERY time you go pay for gas. EVERY time you go into Starbucks to grab a coffee. EVERY time you run to the ATM. EVERY time you do anything at all. Every time? EVERY TIME.

Before you leave the house, pack an entire bag separate from your purse with your car keys, cell phone, wallet, debit card, ID, money, lip gloss, compact, tampons, etc. Make sure you pack a diaper bag. This includes (but is not limited to) formula, bottled water, diapers, scented diaper disposal bags, hand sanitizer, wipes, a few extra outfits, a pacifier, bibs, a burp cloth, an extra pair of socks, an extra bottle, diaper cream, toys, your baby's favorite book, snacks, Capri Suns, and Tylenol- just in case. Do this every single time you leave your house for three years. Every. Single. Time.

Sex? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. When the baby gets here, you're off-limits for at least six weeks, and let's be honest, you're not even ready to be touched then. He's huffing and puffing, not realizing the great Act of God you've just performed to birth his offspring. When you finally are feeling up to it again, you're always just getting good and into it when BAM!- the monitor erupts into wails and it's time to make a bottle. Then after he eats, he has to burp, and you might as well change him since he's up. He's being fussy, so when you lay him down he belts out a high-pitched scream, so you have to bounce him to sleep for twenty minutes. By the time he's out, you stumble into bed, where your husband has already passed out across the bed, drooling onto your pillow. Good luck.

What music? You mean the stuff that you might occassionally hear on the radio if your baby falls asleep on the way home from a semi-long car ride? Once they get old enough to know better, your car is dominated by Disney sing-a-longs and Taylor Swift. I don't even know what it's like to listen to what I want to any more. Tyler and I used to fight over the radio; now we fight with the kids over it.


Not long ago, you used to have a group of best friends. Now you have a husband, a baby, and if you're lucky, one other really good friend who has stuck by you through everything, and even then you don't get to talk like you used to. Responsibilities and life get in the way. If you're parenting correctly, you don't have much time for friends. It sucks, but it's true. Brutal honesty here.

Why would anybody in their right mind sign up for this? It's not fun. It's hard. It's brutal. It will test you to your limits and make you feel like you're about to break.
It's worth it- when you're ready- but if you're questioning getting pregnant (or getting pregnant again,  Future Self), think about these things. These are reality.

I LOVE my kids- to the moon and back again. But they are HARD.
If you aren't ready, wait. You have all the time in the world. If you are, join the club and realize what it's like to live your life in a constant whirlwind of sippy cups and Goldfish. :)