1. You baby talk all the time. I have found this to be a recurring problem especially when I'm talking to Jeff and ask him, when he comes out of the bathroom, if he's made a stinky.
2. Poop is on your mind morning, noon and night. What's wrong with his poop? Is it the wrong color? Should I call the doctor if it is? Is there blood in the poop? What does that mean? Etc. etc. Oh and then of course you deal with the explosive poop and getting pooped on nearly every waking second of the day.
3. Getting four straight hours of sleep in a godsent. Zombies are a fictional horror monster? Why not look over at the new parent sitting next to you. Dark circles under the eyes. Blank, lifeless stares. Sometimes the mouth hangs open uncontrollably with drool dribbling down the sides. The walk is jerky and almost cryptic from a number of different things. That, and they're probably covered in all sorts of poop, spit up or boogers.
4. Par-taying is now a thing of the past. Remember those late nights on either weeknights or weekends? Remember being able to throw back a few drinks with ease and then dancing the night away before getting up around noon. Yep. Doesn't happen any more. Being the stubborn person that I am I still try to stay up until 11 or 11:30 p.m. at night. However when you have a little guy waking up around 4 or 5 am this isn't necessarily the smartest thing to do. I now find myself being perfectly content at home on a Friday night, the couch my sweetest friend after I put the little guy to bed. I can lounge in front of the TV laugh at The Soup when it comes on and then drift into sweet sweet empty sleep (uninterrupted) until Jeff comes home from work and wakes me up.
5. Once sore boobs can now withstand an atom bomb. I'm not quite sure how that would work if my boobs did actually encounter an atom bomb. Perhaps, like Twinkies and cockroaches, they'd be one of the few things that survive. All I know is after a month of nearly crying out in pain every day when my son attached himself to me I can honestly say if these things can withstand the gummy, barracuda-like mouth of my infant son over and over again then they could probably survive the third world war.
More to come as the lightbulbs flash above my head in realization. :)