And you're going to smile and say "thank you for the wisdom, Maven" and quite possibly start a coffee trust for me for when I'm broke because I decide I finally want to try my hand at writing full time. Ok? Ok.
Myth: You make sweet love to have a baby.
Truth: You engage in something that can only be described as a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in which you are not enjoying what you're doing and yet you're doing it naked. "Good. We engaged in sexual intercourse for the fifth time today. You have spread your seed within me. Get off me now. No, I mean it. Hey! HEY! Stop trying to hug me! You'll jostle the mother load! Don't-- Listen, I'm serious! DO NOT TOUCH ME, ASSHOLE! I'M TRYING TO MAKE SURE YOUR SWIMMERS GREET MY FUCKING EGG SO WE CAN CREATE FUCKING LIFE, OK!? ... Can you give me my laptop so I can input our copulation schedule into this website? Oh, and prop my ass up with some pillows, will you? Thanks, darling."
Myth: You'll settle quickly into parenthood and you'll just know when it's time to have another baby.
Reality: Mother Nature hates you and wants to laugh at you, so she'll make you think you're ready for another baby when you're too overwhelmed to notice that your life really, really sucks now. "Oh, he's so perfect, honey. Isn't he perfect? Look at those perfect little toes on those perfect little feet. He's a perfectly perfect mix of our genetics. It just makes my uterus blossom with happy rainbows! Let's have seven more right now. No, I mean now. Let's get crazy! I'll just feed him, burp him, slap some diaper cream on him, try to put him down without him waking up, crawl out of the room backwards on my hands and knees so I don't creak the floorboards, change my nursing pads, take my basal body temperature, throw a towel over the spit up on the couch, and we can make spontaneous love just like we used to! Don't you just love being a parent? It's magical."
Myth: Your parenting is reflected in your child.
Reality: Don't kid yourself, Bertha. Your shelf of Dr. Sears books is only part of the puzzle. If you have well-behaved, sweet kids that everyone secretly resents you for, you obviously haven't had enough of them. You haven't had The One yet. The One is an egg of evilness that lives within you (or in someone else, if you're adopting - The One does not discriminate) that instinctively knows parenting "experts" are conspiring with Mother Nature to increase the birth rate in the Western World. The One will find you, eventually, and will hand you your false sense of control on a skewer. The One will make you cry, make you question your decisions, make you wonder why Dr. Phil won't answer your emails because doesn't he know how bad it is at your place? I think everyone needs at least one of The One. I have several. I fancy myself a bit of a collector.
Myth: Your child is super smart. Smarter than all the other kids.
Reality: All children are super smart, sort of. I mean, maybe yours can do long division at three and mine can't, but mine shares toys at playgroup and that's a serious life skill. (Actually, that was just an example. None of mine shared toys at playgroup at three, nor could they do long division. Not shining stars on any level when you look at it that way, but I digress...) But when you hear things like, "Timothy has a 4.0 GPA at his Montessori, and can do complex equations with his fridge magnets, and learned to ride a two wheel bike at 8 months old, blindfolded, as he recited Shakespeare sonnets" it's bound to make you feel a little inadequate. Well, Timothy might very well bite the heads off gerbils when he's not doing the baby babbling equivalent of "Look, ma! No hands!" The universe always strikes some kind of a balance. So don't feel bad and go hug your mediocre kid who will probably grow up making you at least moderately proud. And really, what more do you want? If it's a toss up between beheaded rodents or a thrice married professional gambler, I'll take the latter.
So there you go. Myths debunked. You're very welcome.
There, there. Don't cry. Everyone eventually comes to realize that 80's TV sitcoms lied to us. You'll get over it.