We’ve all heard the term “bridezilla.” But have you lucky husbands, boyfriends, and significant others had the chance to experience a “momzilla?” If so, I feel for you. (Kind of) I mean, we are the ones who have to actually birth the baby, so I don’t feel all that bad. Anyways, shortly after the above picture was taken on August 18th of this year, I became my husband’s worst nightmare: a complete momzilla.
As a new mother, the emotions that you experience when you see your child for the first time overwhelm and flood your mind, your heart, and your soul; it truly is the most incredible experience. I was hysterically sobbing when they lifted this handsome, grey alien over the surgery curtain, with a million thoughts racing through my mind. How was that tiny, little human living in my belly for the last nine months? Did he get enough tacos in there? Why was he grey? Why was he so little? Why was he shouting at me? Did he have all of his fingers? Was he healthy? And how did he instantly make my heart explode into a million, tiny pieces?
When we brought my son home, I had my first “freak out” moment. As I opened the door to the car, his head had fallen from an upright position to his chin resting on his chest. I just completely lost my shit. I screamed. I cried. And then I started bawling. In the parking lot of our neighborhood. In front of my husband, my mother-in-law, and my brother-in-law. The way that his head had fallen onto his chest made him look lifeless, and I’m pretty sure my heart actually stopped in that moment. I adjusted his head, watched him breathe, and cried all the way up the stairs to our condo as my husband carried the car seat. When we got inside, my husband immediately tried to console and reassure me. He said, “Babe, he is just fine. Nothing could have happened to him. We just need to buy a head positioner for his car seat.” I glared at him with every mean, angry bone in my body through teary eyes. And I said with a seemingly deep and demon-possessed voice, “Give me the baby NOW.” And bless his heart, he couldn’t get the buckles of that car seat undone quick enough. He handed Jaxon to me, and I cuddled him and held him for hours after that. I was just a complete sobbing, emotional train wreck. It took me most of the day to recover from that incident, and to even consider letting anyone else hold him. Even then, I didn’t let anyone hold him for more than ten minutes. This day is where it all began, and a momzilla was born.
In all fairness, my son was up every two hours for the first six weeks of his life, so being completely sleep-deprived as well as being hormonal, made my behavior somewhat excusable. I was also unable to breastfeed because I never produced milk, so the whole formula issue was a nightmare. We had to switch him three different times before we realized that he was lactose intolerant. He was also on medicine for acid reflux and would scream if he slept flat on his back. My poor husband had a Momzilla and a Babyzilla.
I remember waking up every two hours and having a new reason to yell at my husband. And when he peacefully slept through feedings and diaper changes, I wanted to push him off of the bed. (I’m not kidding about this one.) The thought crossed my mind so many times. So when he did help me out, he obviously never did it right. I mean, he actually did, and was very helpful, but I was just an overprotective, control freak. It was a lose-lose for that poor man for those six weeks. The following is just a summary of everything that I told him he was doing wrong, overreacted over, and cried hysterically about: He didn’t put the diaper on right. He didn’t put enough petroleum jelly on Jax’s circumcision. He didn’t use enough baby wipes. He didn’t hold him right when he gave him a bottle. He never wanted to give him a bath. He never woke up with him. He didn’t put him in the middle of the bassinet correctly. He didn’t put bibs on him, so that’s why his clothes were ruined from soy formula. He didn’t love us. He didn’t love me. He thought I was fat. He thought I was sensitive. He hated my hair. He hated puppies. He only said we could have two puppies. He didn’t want to have goats on our future farm. He only wanted four children. He never said that Jax had cute socks. He ate too noisily. He snored too loud that it woke the baby. (He basically pissed me off for breathing.)
I told you. I was terrible. A real-life, momzilla. There is actually so much more than what I wrote above, but that is just a small example of the crazy, erratic, post-partum thoughts that I had had. To this day, I wonder how that man had so much patience with me in those six weeks. I wonder how we are still married. And I wonder why he still loves me as much as he does. I was a damn mess.
I really hope that future fathers read this post, share it with their friends, and prepare for this, because it’s not just me. The mother of your child has an inner Momzilla just waiting to rear her ugly head.
You have been warned.