The Ultimate Parenting Manual

Introduction

I am an expert in the field of pregnancy and motherhood, because…I am a mother. I have no other qualifications, but what else is needed?

If you are reading this book as a source of factual information, then I’m sorry, but you bought the wrong book! But if you are ready to laugh at the funny side of it all—and there is a huge funny side!—then I hope you’ll come along with me as we explore that most intriguing and most life-altering of events: paying the hospital bill.

No, actually, I am referring to the birth and rearing of children, God’s most precious gift. And they are indeed the gift that keeps on giving…

You will notice throughout this book that I refer to Mother Nature. I assure you I am under no delusions about the Source of all life and creation, but rather than risk disrespect in referring to Almighty God, I prefer to blame those quirks and foibles of our physical existence on a fictional character we can all relate to.

The wisest man who ever lived said, “A merry heart doeth good like medicine.” So, settle back and prepare to take your medicine, secure in the knowledge that some day, you too, will be a parenting expert like me—at least to those who don’t know any better.



Chapter One
Pregnancy

Congratulations! You’re going to have a baby. Whether it’s number one or number twelve (Bless your heart! You have time to read this?) you are no doubt glowing with joy. Actually, that is perspiration from all the exhausting feats you must perform, like walking across the floor. But nevertheless, learning you are pregnant is cause for celebration. You might as well celebrate now. You won’t have the time or the money to do it after the baby comes.

So, assuming you did the little test, or a doctor did the little test—or as in the instance of the mother of twelve, you got up the next morning and donned maternity clothing on the correct assumption that those hearty little swimmers did the job once more—you may now confidently inform people that you will be out of commission for roughly the next eighteen years.

It doesn’t end there, but I don’t want to terrify you prematurely. We’ll leave that to the millions of older mothers in the world who, the moment the happy news leaves your lips, will take upon themselves the responsibility to calm your fears. After all, just because your neighbor Wanda’s firstborn came out with two heads, and the two-headed gene most likely runs in your family, there’s no need for alarm. Two heads will just be more to love!

Yes, indeed. You will be fortunate enough to learn, without even trying, about genetic deformities and DNA-linked oddities worthy of Ripley’s Believe It or Not right there in your own neighborhood, or even better, your own family! Just one meal of Oreo’s mixed with Strawberry syrup, and your developing fetus will no doubt sprout an extra nose, just like your cousin Ida’s third child, who looked just like his father, except for that honker on the side of his head.

And that brings us to the new mother’s most important contribution to her unborn child: a College Savings Plan. No, wait, not yet. We’ll get to that. First, you must pay rapt attention to every morsel that enters or does not enter your mouth for the next nine months. Or longer if you intend to breastfeed. Your doctor will no doubt prescribe in grave, doctorly tones an expensive bottle of prenatal vitamins. (The term prenatal comes from the auld English phrase which means ginormous hunks of chalk that could choke a horse.) These clumps that you must swallow every day, even when your stomach has gone on red alert and consistently refuses the entrance of anything food-like that comes down the hatch, will insure that you continue to have the energy of an aging sloth and your baby will pop out right on schedule with the standard number of appendages. Or somewhere close.

Besides taking your vitamins every day, you need to pay strict attention to your diet. The American Academy of Overpaid Obstetricians states clearly that “expectant mothers must insure that their unborn children are receiving the proper nutrients by eating anything and everything in sight.” You will not need to be told to do this. You will begin to do this instinctively, as Nature intended, and just because you decide to mix donuts with tomato juice doesn’t mean your child won’t thrive. This is your chance, future mothers! You can now eat anything you want and no one will care! So what if your thighs become large enough to need their own zip codes? You’re doing it for THE BABY! And everyone will praise you for it. You can deal with those extra 230 pounds after the baby comes, when they will no doubt melt away without any effort on your part.

As important as diet is, watching what does NOT enter your mouth is equally vital. Alcohol and tobacco have to go. Imagine this from your child’s perspective: He’s stretched out on the uterine-hammock, catching some z’s, when all of a sudden, smoke fills his little hideout! And there’s nowhere to go! Gag! Yak! Choke! Even if his little lungs aren’t formed yet, he’ll find a way to choke on it, just like he will later when he’s grazing in the dog’s bowl. But, I digress. That’s a later chapter.

And alcohol, c’mon. Talk about under-age drinking! Save the good stiff drink for AFTERWARDS, when you REALLY need it. Like when this precious bundle of prenatal-ness has crayoned over your family’s heirloom portrait, pierced his face in twenty places—with a grill skewer—or used the only dirty word he’s ever heard right in the middle of Sunday school. THEN it’s OK to drink. But for now, put it away.

Now let’s talk about exercise. No, come back! Pick the book back up! I can hear your heavy sigh from where I sit in my non-pregnant utopia. Remember, exercise is important, both for you and for the humongous exercise industry that relies on your guilt to keep making trillions of dollars. Thousands of cute and not-so-cute fashions abound to fit every stage of your expanding body. If you spend enough time perusing your options, you might not have to do any actual exercising at all, while still reaping the external benefits of talking about it to others.

Obviously, in your pregnant state, you will have to make some adjustments to your regular fitness routine. By that I mean you will have to actually get off the couch. Oh, it won’t be easy, but it will be worth it when you can look down at your belly that has already entered a room other than the one your feet are in, and say to yourself, “This isn’t my fault. I’m not fat. The baby is fat.”

That’s right, future mother. Some of those extra calories (cal from the Greek word things, and -ories from the Old English phrase that taste good) have gone to your baby and he now weighs approximately as much, or more, than your house.

How will I get him out? you begin to worry.

Ha, ha! That’s what we’ll discuss in the next chapter. However, if you’re feeling a bit squeamish, or your particular bundle of nausea has already caused you to double your pre-pregnancy weight and you’re only in your second month—you might want to skip it.

Now let’s discuss the various other parts of your body which decide all at once to sabotage you, simply because another human being has taken up residence in your abdomen. Now, tummy pain we can understand. After all, that trim 24…30…35…OK, 60-inch waist you started with has been invaded and required to stretch beyond what normal skin ought to stretch. After all, you’re not made of spandex. But Nature seems to forget that and requires you to balloon up like the Goodyear blimp, just so you can add another human being to the world, one who vaguely resembles your husband’s least favorite aunt and will eventually barf all over your new blouse right before your class reunion.

That’s OK. We parents smile indulgently at this sort of thing, because if anything, parenting teaches you patience. It also causes vital brain cells to vegetate and finally die off after you’ve watched your three-hundred-and-thirtieth episode of Dora the Explorer. All in one day. But you won’t need your brain anymore, anyway. The moment you decide to raise a child, you forfeit any skills, talents, or intelligence you once believed you possessed and by the time this precious bundle reaches adolescence, you come to understand, via rolled eyes and heavy sighs, how utterly ancient and un-cool you really are. So, don’t worry about a few pesky dead brain cells. You’ll never miss them.

Now, back to your body. Yes, all of it! In addition to your stretching tummy skin, other important organs and limbs demand equal time, as though they are jealous of all the attention your uterus is earning. Your back reminds you of that time you fell off the parallel bars in P.E. class. It has never really forgiven you. Now it will get even by pretending it also carries a baby. So, even though your belly is sticking out in front, you will waddle around clutching your back, instead. Sweet revenge!

You might erroneously believe that your extremities can remain virtually unscathed by this blessed event. Not true. Your feet start to flatten out like runny pancake batter when you try to put on shoes that no longer fit. What? you think. Do I have babies growing in my feet, too?

Your doctor—the smug male!—tells you it is simply water retention, as though that will make your shoes fit better. But you grow suspicious. The last time you actually saw your feet was a month or two ago.

Realization hits: Those are not your feet! Somehow, someone has exchanged your cute little pedicured tootsies for these walrus pods you must now clomp around on! While you weren’t looking (maybe it was during the childbirth video when you passed out from shock) some joker exchanged your feet for your grandmother’s. Whether your usual feet return is something you’ll have to pursue as soon as this baby is born. Assuming you can still walk.

So now that you understand that your body is having a little fun with you, the physical adjustments should be easier to accept. Who cares that instead of cow-tipping, the local youth enjoy a friendly after-school game of Mommy-tipping, where they poke your shoulder and watch as you begin to lean sideways like the Tower of Pisa until your opposite shoulder touches the wall and you are stuck there, at a forty-five degree angle, unable to right yourself?

Hilarious! You’ll laugh so hard you’ll begin to cry. And you’ll begin to do something else, too, which leads us to the next point.

Another body part that betrays you during this blessed nine-month (or ten, or twelve-month, depending on how firmly ensconced your child is in your womb) is our old friend, the bladder. Miss Bladder becomes quite persnickety when she realizes an entire human being is using her for a tap dance floor. To get even, she informs you that she needs relief at the most inopportune times: when you sneeze, during your best friend’s wedding (Not the reception. Oh no, the ceremony, just as the happy couple begin their vows.)

Miss Bladder is definitely an irate spinster, unused to children, and in the habit of being obeyed any time she calls. Now she chooses to call during the middle of the night (several times), during church, in the middle of an important meeting, or just out of the blue like before the bathroom door has even closed on your retreating figure. She gets a great kick out of watching you hop-to at her every whim.

A word of caution: Do not try to outlast her. You will not win. She is serious. She is deadly. And she will be obeyed, unless you want to resort to wearing your grandma’s Depends.

Another area that bears mentioning is one that will bring a sparkle to your eye at the thought. Your breasts may have been walnut-size before, but in preparation for your little guest, Mother Nature has thoughtfully provided you with the cleavage you always dreamed of. Never mind that they hurt like the dickens, they look fabulous for at least three months—until they begin to leak milk every time a baby cries from as far away as three houses down.

But enjoy them while you can, because one of Mother Nature’s spiteful little secrets is that this wonderful blossoming of your bosoms has a price tag. It won’t have to be paid right away. But one day, after the girls have swollen up like beach balls a few times, been chewed on by teething infants, and been squished into a nursing bra that has all the sex appeal of a parachute harness, the day of reckoning comes: May 3, the year you turn 40.

A word of warning: If you are under 18 or a member of the gender who cannot biologically become pregnant without supernatural assistance, do NOT read any further. The following information could cause severe eye damage or scar your childhood. All right, consider yourself warned.

If you are still reading, I must assume you are a pregnant female, have been pregnant, or may become pregnant if this book doesn’t terrify you too badly, and therefore will experience everything you are about to read. Proceed with caution.

Once you have your body back permanently, in other words you have no further plans to house any more miniature human beings in it, you prepare to breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy having your body all to yourself. So, you go looking for it. When you left your pre-pregnancy shape, you were a firm, svelte, perky little hottie. In the back of your mind, you’ve also been counting on those buxom bosoms which bloomed so ravishingly during the early stages of pregnancy. You’re ready to enjoy them now.

But…where did they go? You’ve squeezed into that string bikini while standing in front of a full-length mirror, ready to ogle yourself. But what’s this? Or rather…who is this? Where did your body go?

What was once firm and svelte is now the consistency of warm Jell-O! And those perky girls are not where you left them! They may have originated high on your chest but alas, they have departed. South, to be exact. Those bouncy water balloons are now half-filled and dangling somewhere in the vicinity of your former waist!

Dismay is not a strong enough word for what you feel as you stand before your mirror, billowing out of that string bikini that has shrunk since you put it in your drawer. Horror comes closer.

Your husband walks in and you burst into tears. He says that you are beautiful and you want to slug him. The liar.

“Where did my body go?” you wail and pound your fists against his chest. His chest is still right where it is supposed to be, unlike yours.

He is not sure what to say because, as he rightly assumes, there is nothing he can say, so staying quiet is the best choice.

However, he’s a man so he tries anyway. “I love your body like this,” he proclaims, with that look of panic that says for some reason he does not understand, he may be sleeping on the couch tonight.

“Like what?” you challenge, knowing that there is no good answer.

Now he is stuck and he knows it. He tries the kissy-kissy part and gets nowhere. He tries the stammer-and-shrug response, which is getting him into more trouble. Finally, in desperation, he cries, “I don’t mind! I always liked you better with a little meat.”

Meat? you think. This body is a Viking feast!

You stomp off to cry alone and he is left to wonder what he said wrong.

So, dear mother-to-be, I hope this chapter has given you adequate preparation for this most exciting time in your life. At no other time will you be able to take up two parking spaces all by yourself, be kicked out of bed by someone you cannot see, or eat an entire box of Krispy Crèmes and not feel the least bit guilty.

And if this is your first baby, do all you can to enjoy the few remaining days of peace and quiet, late breakfasts, drinks that stay on the coffee table where you put them, and full nights unbroken by the sound of someone screaming for no reason at all.

Because, they will be your last.