"You've heard the judgments, perhaps even said the words yourself . . . even if only in your mind. "Breast is best." And sometimes that is true. But here's the surprise, YOU get to decide. For YOU."
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Okay Ladies and Gents. Follow these steps and no one gets hurt.
UNO. Put your kids down for their naps, even if it ain't nap time, cuz lawd knows Momma needs them to take a long one today!
DOS. Grab your Impact Iced Coffee. Yep, the Sugar n' Spice on tap is like legal-crack-to-go-in-a-cup-full-of-hope. Add a tisket of raw honey and a tasket of whatever kind of milk makes you feel like the best parent ever and suddenly that coffee is sexy too.
TRES. You know that quiet spot in your house that you've been dreaming of dusting off and sitting in on your own? Yes. That one. Don't dust it. Just go sit there. Now.
QUATRO. Get out your secret F* Me voice and Use. It. 'Cuz once this paragraph is over. It. Is. On. It's about to get crazy up in here. Fair warning. This ain't your average doula blog. And with that, I give you. . .
(sexy voice starts now)
The Night I (BEEPED) My Husband!
It's 1 a.m. Each child is safely asleep. And by *safely,* I mean they've each swallowed the berry, naturally flavored (of course) CalMag, and I shouldn't hear from them until at least 4 a.m. There's curdled spit-up and spaghetti finger prints on my t-shirt but I'm too wiped to find pajamas in the pile of wrinkled, clean clothes on the floor. And I've got shit to do in my glorious 20 seconds of quiet.
Someone please adopt the dog that is scratching on the baby gate. I'll pay you.
I think I spoke to my husband yesterday. Or was it the day before? Nope. It was most certainly yesterday. Romantic as Hell. He passed me the pasta and I passed him a to-do list.
Moi: "I have to get groceries tomorrow. What kind of ice cream do you want?"
When he walked into the bedroom tonight I could tell something Crazy.Town. was about to go down. Sleep. Long, deep, uninterrupted sleep is at the top of my wish list. It has been at the top of said list since 2008. But as he entered, clearly a big somethin' somethin' had just moved to the top of his wish list. We're outta the Lush massage bar, plus we just did this jazz a couple weeks back, so this was too soon. Too Soon.
But then he said it.
The words I've been waiting to hear since the moment we turned our lives into Parents-R-Us.
He crawled onto the bed.
(You might want to sit down for this and if you haven't gotten out your sexy voice by now, Do. It. See steps tres and quatro.)
He licked my cheek.
Put his hand up my stained shirt. Pressed his body against mine. And whispered in my ear.
"I read an article today."
He took off his shirt.
Wait. Sweet Jesus. Where did his Target boxer-briefs go?
"About raising the kids in an optimal, intentional way, and I think we should try…"
He was straddling me now like Tarzan straddles Jane in the jungle.
"A new. Technique."
And I couldn't stop staring at him. Alright. I'm in.
"What exactly did the article say that grabbed you?," I said.
"The part about how hard you mothers work to satisfy everyone's needs.," said he. The part where everything you are and everything you do comes together in one highly, sensitive, little spot. And how it gets harder and harder for mothers to find time or resources for self-care. So, I thought I would show you how to take care of yourself when I am away."
And then the vibrating started. Somewhere deep from in my pants. I couldn't take it. I couldn't stop it, no matter how hard I tried. The vibration was getting louder, and faster...
The dog barked.
The baby cried.
The vibrating turned into ringing.
(If your sexy voice is still on board, go ahead and tuck that away for now.)
I sheepishly opened one eye as my 41-week client on the the other end of the line excitedly reported that her water had released a moment earlier. I smiled as I listened to her describe the events of the evening and how she planned to meet me in an hour at the hospital. By now my second eye had joined the party and the husband that played the sexy role of the teasing researcher had long since vanished to tend to the crying.
As I grabbed my cold brew from the fridge and entered the cool night air to welcome the newest member of our community, I blew a kiss to the deep, safe eyes in the window that were sending me love and assurance from the baby's room. This guy parents with a grace, peace, and contentedness that I gave up imitating long ago. If I say chocolate, he says vanilla. And therefor we get both, every time.
A new baby. A new mother. A new father. A new family for everyone to navigate through life with. A reminder to press the reset button in my own life. An opportunity to practice gratitude for just how fragile, and chaotic, and hectic, and intense, and sacred, and true, and short life is. Caffeine does in fact put a pretty little bow on the intensity of the package for me, and I promise to be faithful to the espresso gods. But. No matter how many times my kiddos spill my coffee while coming in for an extra strong, extra excited tackle-hug, and even if this steadfast guy of mine decides to skip the ice cream and article reading all together, I'm still all in. Every. Time.