Months 1-2: You've welcomed home an amoeba. Enjoy as it slowly destroys you.
Feelings: You're tired, and mostly too tired to be or feel anything but tired. You'll vageuly recall moments of joy when looking longingly at your amoeba and then shocked back to fatigue as you realize two hours have passed and you have no recollection of what has happened. You won't be in the same room or in the same clothes and you'll have a headache. You did not just wake up from an all-night bender. Also there will be frustration. Oh my god will there be frustration.
Lucky number(s): 1, 18; you're realizing that this will be the longest year of your life and looking fondly into the future when you can legally kick your child out of the house.
What it isn't: Bliss.
Months 3-4: A Large paperweight
What it is: A goiter. Your child still requires you for everything which, by now, is probably taking its toll on your joints and muscles. But here's the thing, your kid is smiling now, and not just while in the throws of a nap on top of your chest. I've conducted my own scientific study on the correlation of baby cuteness and baby annoyingness and my conclusions are clear. Babies have an innate sense of the level at which they are taxing your everyday existence and have the ability to employ a "new trick" with as little effort possible in order to mitigate your increasing need to toss them unceremoniously into their crib for the rest of their lives.
Feelings: Yes, you're first two months were a blur, but as you begin to figure out, this thing is growing, at a somewhat rapid and alarming rate. The good news is that you sort of acclimate, or at least life keeps on whether or not you're keeping up and people tend to be relatively gracious about not commenting on your general lack of coherence. You feel used, and yet, somehow, your okay with it. Must be the smiles.
Lucky number(s): 11; the number of people your child will smile at before you.
What it isn't: Magical.
Month 5: Whence diaper changing becomes World War III.
What it is: Elevn Larpers Larping. Mild protests and crying are not an uncommon diaper changing event. And yet, suddenly, your child can moonwalk off of the changing table and his or her hips don't lie. Your child is in greater control of their faculties than ever before. Depending on the diaper you are using this can become increasingly problematic. I've found that disposables, while destroying the world one poop at a time, are infinitely easier to maneuver on a wriggling ass than the cloth diapers we use. In our situation, if he shifts just right the insert gets pulled all wonky and he ends up getting snapped into his diaper shell with his penis hanging out the side or his asshole completely uncovered. Which then, repeat, because no one wants to deal with the eventualities of that situation. You will simultaneously admire the sheer volume at which your child can now project it's voice and wince at the pain of your bleeding ears. Expect your eardrums to burst at least twice while making it through this phase.
Feelings: Disbelief reigns as you really thought you were getting this whole parenting thing down. And then, bam, back to square one. You will use every distraction technique available and experience moments of confidence as you hit on something that works followed shortly by a deep depression as your baby throws stuffed pookie bear across the room. Do not hesitate to call for back-up and don't feel bad when the only reason your doing so is to weasel out of changing the diaper (unless you never "have" to change diapers, in which case your partner gets to never do anything ever again).
Lucky number(s): 2; the number of diaper changes that will go smoothly during any given week.
What it isn't: So much fun.
Month 6: Baby voodoo and other magics.
What it is: A low-level priestly functionary. In this new world you are a cupbearer and your child is the high priestess of lights and fans. It is far easier to acquiesce to this new role and make sure to stop at any and all lights and fans in order for your child to take it's time staring and squealing and smiling. In their delight you will find yourself drawn in by the excitement of the moment and therein lie the seeds of madness. You'll be sitting enjoying a meal at a restaurant (and by enjoying I mean simultaneously corralling a fidgety child, holding down conversation with your partner, and attempting to successfully navigate food from a plate to your mouth hole) waxing eloquent about how your child was always such a good sleeper and your partner will look utterly bewildered. Why? Because your child was never a good sleeper. The first two months of your life was spent alternating between two hour chunks of holding him while you rock back and forth and holding her while she sleeps. Black magics are at work. They befoul your memories in order to prepare you mentally and emotionally to have more of them. It is an interesting and effective evolutionary technique. Darwin would be proud.
Feelings: The fervor with which your child searches for and stares at lights and fans is astounding to the point of amusement. You will experience joy as it's little eyes light up with fascination and peels of laughter find it's melodious tones warming your heart. Do not let it. This is the time to steel yourself against their conniving ways and prevent the oh-so-subtle takeover of your autonomy. Also, resistance is futile, because those little fuckers can be quite adorable.
Lucky number(s): 47; the number of minutes out of every hour you will spend pointing out lights and fans to your child.
What it isn't: A good idea.
Month 7: Naps and the world ends.
What it is: The source of about %75 of the shaming going around the parenting world. Napping. You will have your own battles uniquely suited to your own child and decisions, but what you'll find is everyone else will have an opinion about what you shouldn't be doing and how you are ruining your child forever and ever. Other parents are just as opinionated, which is annoying because we're all in this together, right?! RIGHT?! Nope, you're on your own. Suck it up, I guess, because this isn't about support. This is about being right. And we all know I'm right and everyone else is wrong. Allow me to not-so-gently toss you down a flight of stairs in the correct direction.
Feelings: Rage moving towards acceptance with a dash of "I can't give a fuck about this because I'm literally keeping my shit together with twine and scotch tape."
Lucky number(s): 40 Gagillion Billion; the number of opinions you'll learn to not give two shits about.
What it isn't: Helpful.
Month 8: Mobility, or the lack thereof
What it is: Doing your best not to laugh when your child unceremoniously pitches forward and faceplants. You either are living with a child that is mobile and breaking everything in your houses and pining for the days of simple sitting or still carrying around your goiter with a raging case of tennis elbow and hoping beyond hope that your child takes an interest in anything other than your arms. My child? Oh my child is perfectly content to sit in one place for 5 minutes while I bring him shit and then scream in protest when that time is up and he would like to be held again, thank you, right now.
Feelings: While you may have suspected in the past you're being used you could easily chalk that up to your own over-reactive imagination because it's a baby. That suspicion has passed and you're now absolutely certain you're being used. Like the diaper around your child's nether regions, you are now on the receiving end of their destruction or constant need to be brought something new to play with.
Lucky number(s): 13; the number of aching joints and muscles or broken things you find daily.
What it isn't: Exciting.
Month 9: Hands are
What it is: A bloody nose. Your days now begin with hands exuberantly exploring your face, be it eyeball, nose, or mouth. They will all be found and pinched, squeezed, and whacked by 7am. Sometimes it will involve blood, others a quick trip to the medicine cabinet to begin your daily regiment of acetaminophen. Your life has now become a broken record of "no thank-you's" and labeling the things your child is slamming his hand, foot, and/or head into. Because, as you know by know, if your child is not walking talking and spelling by year one you're not only failing yourself and your baby, you're failing the world. It's time to pick yourself up off the ground, leave your broken tooth there you no longer need it anyway, and get to making sure this kid doesn't turn out to be a criminal, or worse, mediocre.
Feelings: It's not really the emotional piece so much as the painful piece. Your neurons are very capable of sending those messages to your brain center except the whole fight or flight response thing is kind of out the window. Grin and bear it is not just a poor man's Farside, it's also what you're expected to do.
Lucky number(s): 0; there will be zero days in which your child will not inflict pain upon you in some way.
What it isn't: Cute.
This is all I got, cause my kid isn't that old yet. This is science though so I'll be sure to fill in the gaps later. Until then, you're on your own. It really is a magically blissful experience filled with so much fun and excitement. Really.
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