I was so excited to go back to work. After being cooped up in the house for 7 weeks with a dog and a baby, I was craving some adult interaction and social stimulation. I couldn’t wait to not have a baby hanging off my boob every twenty minutes. I couldn’t wait to feel like the person I was before Beau was born. I only planned on going back for a few days at a time, so the thought of just having a brief break from my new life was comforting.

Today, I went back to work. Beau granted me a five hour stretch of sleep last night that made me feel I could conquer the world. I feel like I’m 21 again; going into work hung over on few hours of sleep. Because being a new mom feels a lot like a hang over. You’re tired and have a headache, but it was worth it.

I bought a special backpack specifically for my breast pump in an attempt to make pumping at work go as smoothly as possible. It almost felt like the first day of school as I finished packing my bag with mother’s milk tea and breast pads while a knot thrived in my stomach. Maybe going back to work wasn’t going to be as seamless as I had anticipated.

Of course as I went to pick Beau up to say goodbye, he looked at me with his bright brown eyes and shot me one of his award winning smiles. Why couldn’t he just cry or fuss to make this easier for me? Why did he have to be so damn cute just moments before I was leaving to be a free woman? After a few tears later, mine, not his, I was out the door and on my way to work.

After I got to work, my husband texted me and told me that I forgot all the parts to my breast pump on the drying rack next to the sink. Part of me thinks I subconsciously forgot them, just so he and the baby would have to come visit me at work. I find it funny that my breast pump backpack was filled to the top with shit I didn’t need while I forgot the important stuff at home. Mom brain.

Pumping at work was weird. I did it in the basement. It’s the only place with an outlet that’s not in the kitchen. Ironically enough, I should be able to pump my milk in a kitchen as it is a food, but I just don’t think that’s good for business. So I sat downstairs in a dank basement anxiously listening to the footsteps of customers and the clatter of dishes while trying to efficiently empty my boobs. I hate how I had to take time away from work to pump, but I figured that there’s times I’ve spent more time pooping than pumping so what’s the big deal.

I was starting to feel like I was getting into a groove. My first at work pump session was a success, my muscle memory of work tasks was kicking in and as far as daddy was letting me know, Beau was doing great. I was at a table talking to a customer for a few minutes and all of a sudden I could feel something dripping down my stomach. Oh no, I thought to myself, it’s not, it can’t be. I stood there idly half listening to the customer, but mostly trying to figure out if my boob was actually leaking and trying to stealthily look down to see if that was apparent through my shirt. The bad news is that I was leaking milk the good news is that I had a black sweatshirt on. This is the nightmare all breast feeding moms warn you about. This is the one thing you try to avoid. Needless to say, I need to stay away from the tables with crying babies.

The day carried on and many people inquired about the baby and myself. But there were some customers who were clearly not regulars that didn’t even seem to know that I just had a baby. Which is an amazing indirect compliment to me, because I was seriously bracing myself for the first person to ask when the baby was due after he was in fact born. Luckily, for me and for them, I dropped all of my pregnancy weight quickly. I couldn’t help but to feel unfairly offended by the people who did not ask how my baby was. How did they not know that I just had a son? Did they miss the parade in town in his honor? I mean it was a big event. At least in my eyes it was. I thought I was eager to get my identity back and be who I was pre pregnancy, but I soon realized that I’ve been exactly who I want to be; Beau’s mom. That’s who I want to be known as now. Going back to work and visiting the old me, made me realize that I’ve never been a better version of myself. I’m not afraid to admit that being a mom is the best part of me.

I only plan on working part time right now, but I would say day one was a success. I mean I got the most embarrassing scenario out of the way already, so it can only get better from here. That and I learned that absence does make the heart grow fonder. I couldn’t wait to go home and be my favorite thing in this world; Beau’s mom.

Beau and I had our first outing today. Of course, we went to the official playground of moms, Target. A trip to Target can be a daunting task for any mom with the kids in tow, never mind a first time mom who has not yet left the house with her child alone.

I decided that I wasn’t going to fuss with the baby stroller and I put Beau’s car seat in the basket of a shopping cart. I’ve seen other mom’s do that, so it seemed like the right thing to do.

The first task of our mission was to achieve a venti hot vanilla chai from Starbucks. As we were standing in line, Beau fixated a piercing scowl on me. A face that I could imagine myself seeing ten years from now as I drag him through Target against his will for the millionth time. A few people peeked in his car seat and said, “oh how little!” And then I began to wonder, is he too little to be in public just yet? After a moment of self doubt, I realized that my sanity far outweighed my guilt and we were on our way.

Brandon and I have been to Target with Beau countless times, and not once has he cried. But what better way to initiate me into the mom’s of Target club than by having a mini meltdown. I mean he was red in the face inconsolably crying. At that point in time, I wish I could have bribed him with a cake pop or with a game on my phone. Damn, I can’t use those tricks yet. So I really impressed myself with what I did next. I looked up “white noise” on Apple Music on my phone. I then put the phone close to Beau’s ear and it slowly lulled him into a state of tranquility. #momhack! This is and will continue to be a life saver. Now I’m really wishing we just put an iPhone on the baby registry like we planned to.

Now that I’m a mom, I find myself checking out the other moms. I feel like a little kid, trying to copy and learn from the big kids. How do other mom’s carry their kids in the store or handle the melt downs? I noticed one mom with her three year old son in a carrier on her back. He was playing on her phone completely oblivious to the world and she was filling her shopping car, presumably numb to and also oblivious of the 30 pounds she was carrying around behind her. Another mom had one kid in her arm and one in the cart. Oh my god, yes. If I want more kids, I’ll have to bring them all into target. I can barely manage the diaper bag and Beau. How do all these moms make it look so easy? Am I making it look easy too or do I look like a beginner? This is when I decided I needed to leave the store before my 2 hour time frame was up and Beau needed to be fed again.

I would say our first solo Target trip was a success. I didn’t lock the baby in the car, I got to drink something hot for once and I didn’t spend any money because frankly, I couldn’t fit anything in the cart.

Small victories my friends.

Before there was Beau, there was Max. Max is the type of dog who doesn’t miss Thanksgiving at Grandma’s house and gets a homemade cake every year on his birthday. So, you can imagine my apprehension about presenting a threat such as a tiny human into Max’s perfect little world . All of the parenting books will advise you how to go about introducing a pet to your new bundle of joy, but none of them can accurately prepare you for the reality that is to unfold.

Whenever I use my breast pump, Max stands at my feet with his mouth agape in astonishment and confusion. He looks up at me with puppy dog eyes, as if I’m going to sneak him some breast milk under the table like it’s scrap food. It’s normally a race between him and I to see who will clean the remnants of milk off of Beau’s face after a feeding. Max always seems to find the breast pads that have fallen out of my bra and by the time I realize that I’ve lost one, he has already taken shelter in a corner where he can secretly devour it. I would be lying if I said that Max hasn’t licked my boob a time or two. This is probably why I often find dog hair on my nipple and in Beau’s poopy diapers.

Max delights in the fact that Beau’s socks are bite size. The baby’s hamper is like a candy jar as it’s full of burp clothes covered in spit up and onesies that just barely survived a blow out.

Despite having a tub overflowing with dog toys, I always find Max with a plush baby blue rattle hanging out of his mouth. Max also seems to think that Beau’s activity mat is his and he’ll normally rest his head in a puddle of drool as he naps on it. Beau’s pacifier always goes missing because Max is harboring it in his mouth just waiting for someone to notice so they’ll chase him around the house for it.

Max has made it just about impossible for Brandon and I to stand by our first time parent virtues of eliminating germs and maintaining sanitary conditions for our delicate little new born. I think in a way, he has helped us become better parents. Max reminds us that babies are resilient little creatures that are absolutely not as cute as him.

Since becoming a mom, my google history has become inundated with questions from everything to how to properly store breast milk to is it normal to find dog hair in my baby’s poop? Most of the time google will direct me to a mom group to facilitate in fulfilling my many inquiries.

What I’ve realized about these mom groups is that they contain a secret language of abbreviated words that everyone seems to know but me. An abbreviation that I would stumble upon often is FTM. My overtired mom brain constantly mistook the M for a W and I was certain that FTM stood for, for the win. I eventually learned that this stands for, “first time mom.” It would come as no surprise that many of the questions I asked would most likely render an answer containing this abbreviation because who else would ask those questions except for a first time mom?

The older my son gets, the more I google, and continue to see this abbreviation. But as motherhood is really setting in, I no longer read FTM as, for the win, now it’s beginning to look more like WTF. This is no coincidence, am I right?