As any Peace Corps volunteer will tell you, there´s a fine line between successfully blending in with the natives and losing your entire sense of self.  We used to have an understanding among my fellow volunteers that you´ve been in Russia too long (i.e. “gone native”) when you regularly carry rolls of toilet paper in your purse and never leave home without a plastic bag “just in case the market has anything today….”

(On a totally unrelated side-note, I had a friend who swore she would stay a third year in the outer banks of nowhere if her local market started supplying Diet Coke. Sure enough, we enjoyed a lovely third year together after that.)

I´m now well on my way towards going native among the mommy crowd. With that in mind, I give you my own list of “You Know You´re a Mommy When…..” Mommies of the world – feel free to write in your own suggestions in the comments box below.

You know you´re a mommy when….

• … the first thing you do every morning is feel your boobs to make sure they´re full.
• … you can´t wait until baby´s bedtime but then miss the little chap two hours later.
• … you have a smug, superior look on your face whenever you pass a pregnant woman (you think you have it bad now little lady, but just you wait….).
• … you are adept at living life one-handed.
• … you refer to your husband as “pappa” and yourself as “mommy”.
• … your day consists of either preparing food, feeding food or cleaning said food out of a diaper.
• … you actually look forward to the aforementioned diaper because it means little junior´s tummy is working properly.
• … you (happily) check out the baby clothes department before your own.
• … you can sing lullabies in multiple languages (including baby-speak).
• … your selection of cafes/restaurants/shopping centers/etc. revolves around their level of stroller-friendliness.
• … you have a sliding scale for how much spit-up you can have on your clothes and still go out in public without changing.
• … you invent all kinds of sounds you never knew you could make in an effort to solicit one precious baby smile.
• … you finally get along with your own mother.
• … you have brochures of traveling circuses hidden around the house, just in case.

I had the “dark-and-twistys” this week. The term is pulled from old-school Grey’s Anatomy episodes, before Meredith Grey became bright-and-shiny Meredith around season six. Before season six and her post-it marriage to McDreamy, Meredith and Christina would often visit the Dark Place for a few days, and they always understood exactly what that meant.

Meredith: “Are you in the Dark Place?”
Christina: “Yeah.”
Meredith: “OK.” (exhibits understanding face and walks away….)

There is a special wing of the Dark Place specially reserved for new mothers. For mothers who have children that cry, who can’t be soothed, who don’t have the answers, who have husbands away on business, and who want to throw in the towel and download adoption papers.

That was me this week while Per was gone for two days. Two days – that’s all it took for me to descend from relative normality to the dark-and-twistys. For whatever reason, Per Christian decided to take this opportunity to cry, scream and refuse all previously-standard forms of comfort. He screamed for his pacifier and then spit it out, he hated his walks in the stroller but wasn’t happy inside, he was hot, he was cold, he wanted to be held but wanted to be put down, he was overtired but wouldn’t sleep…

After 24 hours of this, the kid nearly got left in the park with a “Will Work for Food” sign on his stroller.

These are the days when I miss my former life. I know mothers are supposed to be all exuberant over their adorable miracles in a sleep-deprived-martyrish kind of way, but honestly I really do miss my old self.

There – I said it. I may be the only one to voice it out loud, but I bet you’re all nodding your heads and thinking, “yep, me too….”

I see Per leaving for work every day and wish it were me. I hear parties on the street at 3am and wish I were there. I see fabulous clothes in the stores and get frustrated that nothing fits my new body. This little “miracle” has taken everything away – my body, my work, my sanity, my life. And yes, sometimes from the depths of the Dark Place I wish I could take it all back, rewind the tape and not be a Mother anymore.

Everyone tells you that it will pass, but that’s equally frustrating to hear. It somehow invalidates what I’m feeling at that moment. Like the feelings don’t matter because they won’t stick around anyway. I know people are trying to be helpful, but really a knowing nod and understanding face would suit me much better.

Other people offer to help. That also doesn’t work because it just makes me more frustrated that this formerly strong, confident, self-assured version of myself can’t hack it. And I’m reminded that this little six kilo meatloaf has managed to shred every bit of self-confidence I spent 35 years building.

Damn.

I won’t subscribe to the cliché and say that it’s all worth it when he smiles, because that’s not always the case. You can keep your smile, thank you very much. I’d rather have a martini. But the truth is, the dark-and-twistys really do pass. You have good days and bad days. That’s the theme of this entire blog – some days are shitty diaper days, other days are bubbly champagne days.

Today was a great day, maybe one of the best on record. It’s as if Per Christian knew that he nearly got sold to the traveling circus and was trying to convince me not to go through with the paperwork. It doesn’t mean that everything is perfect and I don’t still miss my former life. But it does mean that I can wake up, take a deep breath and try again.

I promise we’ll return to our regular programming on the next post with more mouth-watering baby photos that will make your uterus scream. (sorry gents….)

As my dear husband will confirm, I am the Queen of Multi-Tasking. Not only am I good at it, I actually thrive on it. Unless I have ten jobs with tight deadlines hanging over my head, I’m bored. My husband admittedly can’t do two things at once (don’t even try talking to him when the TV is on, and when Liverpool is playing – forget it).

I’m the exact opposite. I’m one of those annoying people who has to-do lists all over the house — and when I do something outside of the list I write it down just so I can have the pleasure of crossing it off. I sense that I inherited these traits from my mother who plans Christmas dinner in July.

All of that changed five weeks ago when Per Christian joined the family. Now it’s a day-by-day existence where I plan one day in advance if I’m lucky. Yesterday, for example, was a 3pm deadline to make the train and visit Pappa at work. Tomorrow it’s a 12 noon deadline to (attempt to) get my hair cut. Today we might just make it to the shoe repair guy and the grocery store.

My multitasking prowess certainly comes in handy with these seemingly uncomplicated tasks. I can now successfully take care of an infant AND shower on a daily basis. I can also manage to get us both dressed in a relatively decent fashion and out the door at least once per day. And even now, I can manage to type here while Per Christian sleeps strapped to my chest in his baby carrier.

The surprising part – and one that I didn’t expect – is that I’m not complaining about any of it. As someone who was always focused on my next big project, I find myself actually giving over to being a Mom. This little meatloaf has so entirely captured my heart that each day feels like a triumph rather than a compromise. I’ve (temporarily) traded in my to-do lists for a diaper pail and a breast pump (but just to keep some perspective, you should know that there’s a bottle of champagne chillin’ in the fridge).

This feeling took a few weeks to develop, and during that time I often found myself resenting Per Christian and the changes he demanded in my life. Being a new parent is HARD, and not just in a sleepless-night kind of way. It’s the emotional stuff that really creeps up on you and takes you for a spin. Everyone warns you about that in advance, but you really have no idea until you’re tumbling down the rabbit hole first-hand.

Of course, I can’t say that I’m always 100% blissful in a Joan Cleaver kind of way, or that I’ve mastered parenthood and feel invincible. I doubt and question myself every day…. Am I feeding him too much? too often? not enough? Is he going to bed too late? too early? Are we too strict or too flexible? Will giving him a pacifier now reduce his chances of getting into Oxford in 20 years?

But trust me – once your boobs literally leak at the sound of your child crying, you know that life will never be the same again. The great part is finally accepting and embracing the change – THAT, my friends,  is when things start looking brighter in the Svendsen household.

In the world of Prosecco vs. Pampers, the diapers are winning. Yesterday was a Pampers day, no doubt about it. Today – kind of a bit of Prosecco, actually. And it all has to do with expectations.

The routine goes like this – wake up, change diaper, eat First Course, burp, check diaper, hang out w/ your adoring mummy & pappa (Per Christian apparently considers this step to be optional), eat Second Course, soothe via walking/lullaby/rocking, optional Dessert Course, sleep.

Repeat. And repeat….. and repeat.

Yesterday was initiation by fire, Alice down the rabbit hole. Tears were shed and prayers were offered up to dieties I didn’t even know existed. But today? Today’s okay because we’ve already been there, done that. We’re learning a bit more each day about reading Per Christian’s expressions and anticipating which of his four major needs (i.e. – eating, changing, sleeping, or luvin’) is going to come next. And he’s got a couple of real winning faces that we’re learning to gauge.

For example, the wrinkled forehead, wide-eyed questioning look (see Exhibit 1, left) that means either:

(1) “I think I recognize and trust you people gazing so fondly at me, but I’m not quite sure yet,” or
(2) “I’m going to majorly poop right now and you suckers are going to have to clean it up. Again. Ha!”

Also, the head-into-the shoulders burrowing look (which I’ve dubbed “The Turtle”) that means either:

(1) “I love you mummy & pappa and I’m snuggling in close to you for protection and comfort,” or
(2) “I’m getting uncomfortable and am going to scream for mysterious reasons within the next three seconds. Again. Ha!” 

Like I said – we’re getting CLOSER to figuring out his expressions, but we ain’t quite there yet.

But anyway, it’s always good to have an occasional Prosecco day in the midst of all the Pampers.

And now for adoring grandparents and Per Christian fans everywhere, here are some photos from Week 1 of the rabbit hole.