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In the movie Lost in Translation there is a scene in which Bill Murray's character explains that, upon having your first child, "your life as you know it is gone...never to return." The movie has been one of my favorites for years. I just wish that I had known he meant my life.

In early 2010, I gave birth to the world's most perfect child. (Is there a parent who doesn't think his/her child is the world's most perfect?) In addition to being beautiful, he is brilliant and sweet and funny and hands-down the best thing that will ever happen to me. This kid is my entire world. I had somehow suspected through most of my life that he would be, which is why I fought very hard to have him. But about the post-childbirth apocalypse, I had absolutely no clue.

To say things have changed would be misleading. EVERYTHING has changed. Most of it has been good--some not so great--but everything is without a doubt different. And now the world changes once again. My little family and I find ourselves journeying from the big city to beautiful, calm Montana. Will the change be for the better? As with anything, the answer is sometimes "yes," sometimes "no," and always sought with massive quantities of hope. Come with me as I navigate the roads from fast-paced, big-city lawyer to Montana Momhood. Is there a line that can be walked? We'll see. But I can guarantee, at a minimum, it will be an adventurous road trip....

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Ow.

I consider myself to be...well...I guess in relatively decent shape.  At a minimum, for the past six years I trudged up and down several flights of stairs every day to get to my castle in the clouds and therefore should be fairly fit.  And for the last year, I did so armed with about 500 pounds of stuff and a little human being.  So, apart from the usual issues that a body that has had a kid faces, I think I'm in "ok" condition for my age.

For my age.  For my age for someone who isn't chasing a very fast-paced toddler around.  Because, let me tell you, I have never been in so much pain at the end of the day, in my life.  I was an athlete in school and really didn't have too much trouble with physical exertion, so long as it didn't involve a mountain of some sort.  But this?  I feel like I am 90 years old.  The QUEEN looked better than I yesterday.  My back, my arms, my neck--they all feel as though they have reached their capacity at the end of the day.  And they have.  The other day my son and I played "poke mommy with a plastic golf club" because it somewhat resemebled a mediocre massage and I refused to get off the floor.  All I can say, in sum, is "ow."

And the craziest part?  It's only going to get more intense as he gets older.  My new "trainer" is relentless.  Right now he demands being pushed across the room on his scooter.  What happens when the demand is down the block?  Will mommy survive?  I sometimes think the only solution is to ban childbirth in mothers over the age of 15.  I believe we should not only tolerate teen pregnancy, we should require it.  Because they're the only possible people whose bodies can take this on a daily basis. 

I would love to tell you that I'm going to go have a glass of wine and a bath and get over this particular rant.  But we both know I'm going to go bend down to pick up a toy, fall flat on the squishy alphabet playroom floor, and not get up until morning.  So if you happen to stop by, please feel free to wake me.  The plastic golf clubs work nicely.  A little to the left, please.
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