Moby Mom

Yesterday, I attempted to swaddle myself in a ten foot black blanket better known to clued-in mothers as a Moby Wrap. The goal, as the picture described was to neatly tuck my baby away within the folds of a massive piece of fabric, thereby freeing up my hands, relieving some of the pressure from my back, soothing my tired, fussy infant, and (poof!) turning me into the mega multitasking Mom that I long to be.

For the first time in my life, I read instructions and proceeded to fold, wrap, criss-cross, tie and tuck the black garb around my frame. Confident in my handy work, I looked in the mirror to see how I had done. Wow. Not what the picture looked like. (And I really need to run a comb through my hair.) I gently inserted Mary into one of the crevices, hoping that together in the hippie wrap, we would look like the promotional materials.

Nope. Still awkward.

I walked around the house like a marsupial for about fifteen minutes, but my inept Moby styling seemed to be adding more pressure to my back and Mary didn't look all that comfortable, so I unwrapped, called it a day, and turned to the mom duty that I've become quite good at - feeding my baby while granting myself a little guilty pleasure - likely the tenth or eleventh viewing of an episode of Sex and the City.

Sitting there with my hands full again, watching Carrie contemplate one of life's little mysteries, I started to think about one of my own - that is, what kind of Mom I will be.

Unable to create my own personal baby bag, peacefully stare at my child for 45 minutes as she nurses, give up artificial sweeteners, or live without my house being Pine Sol scented clean, I've ruled out being an au naturale hippie Mom.   

As my sister commented on my choice of shoes - 'so do you only wear Toms now?' - I ruled out being a designer Mom. Right now, my look includes a make-up free palette, whatever jeans or stretchy pants fit, and the shoes that are the closest to the door. For the past four weeks they've been my Toms. 

Just looking at all the intense Pinterest projects and the time associated with doing them I'm steering away from being a crafty Mom. And because the girls that I'm dying to hang out with right now aren't moms, I'm guessing I won't end up being a cliquey west suburban Mom.

Likely, I'll ultimately embody a characteristic or two from each of these profiles: I'll keep shopping, buying, and cooking organic as much as possible, I'll eventually get back to my cocktail dresses and shoe boxes, I will pride myself in the picture perfect lunches that I pack, and I might need a local running or wine buddy soon. Then I'll probably add a couple characteristics unique to my style of mothering, and I'll wrap them all up into a slightly neurotic working Mom profile come July. As my friend C. says, 'ta da!'

Whatever type of Mom I turn into though, I'm certain that I will always be a Mom who needs help. And a lot of it. This week alone, my sister came to town to lend a hand, carrying, soothing, and playing with Mary for hours on end; Mimi came over three different times to sit with Mary so I could just get out of the house; and my husband - what can I say - I wouldn't be running again, getting a little extra sleep, cooking, or finding a couple minutes to relax each day without him.

BM - Before Mary, I was pretty sure that I could do it alone. But I've got to say, without help, I would be a mess right now: a sleep-deprived, ornery, hair-frazzled, cabin-fevered, starving, struggling, stinky, scary Mom. And Mary wouldn't be nearly as content as she is right now, snuggled up in my arms as we watch the rain come down. 

As we hit the four week mark, I'm raising my Sauvignon Blanc glass to the village that has helped me raise Mary so far. And to another kind of Mom that I have more respect for than ever - the single Mom. How you do / did it, I have no idea, but I'm in awe.

Lo.