Month 9: Join the Club

Becoming a mom is like joining a club. Overnight (or, in my case, after 20+ hours of labor) you become part of a group of hormone-addled, sleep-deprived, memory-impaired women whose sole purpose on Earth, at least in the short term, is to feed and care for a floppy, wailing, Chihuahua-sized human.

The New Mom Club has no formal meetings; we’re far too busy for that. Nor are all members like-minded; is there a more hot-button issue than breastfeeding, except maybe circumcision or cosleeping? Still, we have plenty of things in common – the desperate desire for a hot shower, for one, and for the return of our bladder control.

New moms have their own particular brand of humor. Poop discussions cause gales of giggles; swapping new-dad shortcomings can consume hours and render still-weak stomach muscles sore from laughter. (Hmmm, new mom workout tip?) We cast knowing glances at strangers in checkout lines with milk stains on their shirts. We tell anyone who will listen that there’s a sale at Gymboree, as if sharing the news of our own engagement.

Suddenly, the sister-in-law you had little in common with becomes a comrade in arms. “Guess what time WE were up this morning?” you commiserate. You begin to look at your mother and mother-in-law as real candidates for sainthood. She raised FIVE children? WITHOUT a dishwasher? BEFORE disposable diapers were invented?!

Sometimes new members have difficulty with the transition. “Why didn’t you girls tell me this was so hard?” a friend recently demanded of us fellow moms, a few weeks into new-motherhood. Oh, but we did. Doesn’t she remember the girls’ nights we spent cursing our breast pumps and sighing over the good old days when any bodily fluids we encountered were our own? No, she was too busy thinking about Friday night happy hour and her new strappy sandals. Let’s face it, until it’s happening to you, you just don’t pay attention. (If you did, you’d be too afraid to reproduce!)

One new mom I know is currently in the throes of the club’s hazing rituals – otherwise known as colic, gastric reflux, cracked nipples, diaper blowouts, and being housebound for days on end. She has not been out on her own since the baby arrived, except for a trip to the dentist – as good as a Caribbean vacation, as far as she’s concerned. Her meals are consumed standing up, with one hand, or skipped entirely. The washer, dryer, dishwasher, and bottle warmer run around the clock.

I wish I could make it easier on her. But as the rest of the initiated know, induction to the New Mom Club is something every gal has to go through herself.

There is life on the other side, I promise. Why, just the other day I left the house by myself for two whole hours. So what if it was to return overdue library books and hit the Stairmaster to stall the impact of gravity on my rear-end? We members of the New Mom Club celebrate the small victories where we can find them.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Call a new mom you know. Instead of barraging her with advice, listen, sympathize, and tell her about one of your funniest and most embarrassing new-mom screw-ups. She’ll appreciate it even more than a casserole, trust me.