It's Two Lines, Toaster!

WARNING!

This post will contain the word 'fuck.'

Probably multiple times.

But it's only because it's part of the story I'm trying to tell.  I'm really not trying to be mommy gangster and scare you away with my sailor-mouth.

The story I'm about to tell is actually supposed to be inspirational.  Well, inspirational probably isn't the right word...

Supportive ?

Motivational ?

I can't quite pin down the right word.  I'll go with motivational. 

Personally, I think the word 'fuck' can be used to convey all of those things; I would buy ten Hallmark cards right now that said,

"You are a fucking great person."

And send them to all my friends.

But that's probably just me.

If it offends you, but you still somehow want to read this post then try substituting a different word whenever I use 'fuck.'

Like toast.

Or beehive.

I'll leave it up to you.

If you have not had children yet and think you are above the word 'fuck', just wait until the first time you spill eight ounces of pumped breast milk.

Beehive just doesn't cut it.

Back to my point.

These days we are bombarded with pictures of how things are supposed to be.  Movies, television...Facebook.  They work together to plant little seeds of expectation in mothers' and and soon-to-be-mothers' minds.

But it is hardly ever reality.

As someone I respect once said,

Facebook is just a highlight reel of someone's life.  It's not the whole story.

It can lead us to think we're doing things wrong when the real story doesn't play out like a scene from a Saturday afternoon Hallmark movie.

(Side note:  Hallmark Channel was killing it last Saturday with the movies.  I don't even care that they are all different versions of the same story.  Awesome.)

On a cold December morning 36 months ago it was that adorable seed of expectation fluttering in my belly as I prepared to tell Michael that I was pregnant.

(In my mind it was going to involve lots of laughter and joyful tears and possibly some lovely instrumental music.)

Me:  Well I'm not pregnant.

Michael:  It's okay, we'll just keep trying.

Me:  Psych.  I am pregnant.

(None of my fantasies of this moment involved using the word psych.  It's like I was suddenly in 5th grade again.  I blame it on the excitement.  Maybe the hormones.  I definitely blame the hormones for what happened next.)

Michael:  Wow! That's great let me see!!

Me:  {Excitedly showing off the pee stick.}

Michael:  I don't know.  The second line is awfully faint.  I can hardly see it...

Me: 

  It's two lines, fucker!

Michael:  What just happened.  Shake it off.

Me:  Wow.

Just as my fantasies didn't include using the word 'psych', they also did not include calling my husband 'fucker'.

(Incidentally, the moment did also include laughter and joy.  Sadly, no lovely instrumental music though.)

This actually couldn't have been a more perfect beginning to our journey into parenthood. 

It is parenthood in a nutshell.

Impossible to plan, and almost never what you thought it was going to be.

(Mostly it's vastly better, occasionally far, far worse.)

Parenthood just happens.  It unfolds in front of you with no way of planning for the dips and dives.  But it's the dips and dives that you have to embrace.  They will be the highlights of your memories with your children.  I'm sure my parents don't remember every 'perfect' moment we ever shared, but they sure do remember the time I pooped all over the conveyor belt at the grocery store.

My lovely co-worker probably won't remember every 'precious' anecdote from her son's childhood, but when he's all grown up I'm sure she'll tell him that when he was two he liked to sit on the air vent and feel the breeze in his hair while he took a dump. (Who can blame the kid, really?)

These ugly beautiful, unexpected and crazy moments.

(Ugly beautiful is a thing. I made it up, or someone made it up.  It's something so hideous that it's sort of beautiful.  Like hairless cats.  Or most of the contestants on America's Next Top Model.  Or penises.)

So I guess my motivational message is:

Don't get caught up in expectation. 

Just let it unfold, and like we do when something totally unexpected, but nonetheless memorable, and oftentimes hysterical happens;

Just think to yourself, "It's two lines, fucker!"

Or, "It's two lines, toaster!"

(If that makes you more comfortable.)

P.S.  If any of my poor, poor in-laws end up reading this... hopefully not; this is not the story you heard. 

This is what actually happened.