A friend of mine just had her first child. Before the baby was born, my friend Lauren had plans of renting a villa in Italy when her baby was 9 months old, where she would knead, bake and eat homemade focaccia while lounging in the shade of a barrel of Chianti – or something like that.

Her little girl is now 3 weeks old and due to intense sleep deprivation, Lauren can no longer spell the word Italy, let alone plan, face or conceive of a flight to get there. Yesterday, she called one of our mutual friends, crying hysterically and begging to know when “this would all be over”, after which she listed various things she hated/missed/mourned/resented about her life, from sore nipples to a husband who works late hours.

Remember those days? Do you remember being so tired that you wore the same clothes for days and not only did you not care, but you were impressed that you got dressed at all? I ate dinner on a plate sitting on top of my eternally-breastfeeding kid’s head, and my (now ex) husband would come home to find me sitting in exactly the same chair, outfit and mood I was in when he left for work 8 hours earlier, smelling faintly of baby powder, milk and York peppermint patties. By the time my daughter was 3 months old, we had moved to a new country where I knew no one, so if I happened to see another mother my age who didn’t drool or sport obvious track marks, I would stalk her – in the supermarket, at garage sales – just to make friends (FYI, my daughter is almost 6 and I’m still friends with those women, so it’s not as bad as it sounds). So I wonder – are we letting each other down by not telling the truth about motherhood? About childbirth and its aftereffects? About the particular alone-ness of it that is sometimes so strong that the word ‘loneliness’ doesn’t do it justice?

Yes, yes, I can hear some of you telling me just how wonderful, moving and bonding the mothering experience has been for you. I agree – it is. But those are the tidbits we do share with our friends – the Hallmark moments when you literally cry for joy at having produced this tiny creature, even if it has just projectile-burped the contents of your breast onto your neck. It seems to me that there exists an unspoken vow of silence when it comes to warning new parents-to-be about the rest of it.  Why don’t we tell them what they’re getting into? And what would you say?

Here’s my short list – write your comments below and let me know if I’m missing anything:

• On childbirth: Don’t push through your eyeballs, or in addition to walking funny after you give birth, your eyes will burst so many blood vessels that you’ll look like an extra from the “Thriller” video. Also, buy one of those balls they use in Pilates classes. Now. Enough said.
• On breastfeeding: it looks easy, and for some of us it is (well, as easy as having something live off parts of your body can be). But either way, consider stopping by a sex shop and buying Velcro-front tops to prepare for all feeding emergencies, and prepare to spend many, many hours trying to reach for the remote control over your child’s happily feeding head. Get the best, kindest, fastest breast pump you can, prepare to return to your mammalian beginnings, and accept that you’ll be channeling National Geographic chimps more than Liz Hurley for a few months.
• On your relationship: this will be the closest you ever feel to your partner, while at the same time feeling completely alone in the responsibility you bear toward your totally dependent child. You will waver between intense love for your partner for having created this child with you, and deep resentment at his being able to leave the house without having to time his departures according to your baby’s feeding schedule. When he comes home asking why you haven’t gotten anything done today, you will seriously consider smothering him with a pillow. Don’t.
• On grandparents: I don’t care how annoying they can be – my grandmother saw a picture of my daughter at 4 weeks and decided she was grossly obese or in the throes of an allergic reaction that made her too puffy – stop feeding her, she said. Start sucking up to them now. Do what you have to do for free babysitting. You need it.
• On “baby brain”: put your books into storage and prepare to become more addicted than ever to the adult equivalent of picture books – Us, People – the fewer words the better. In any case, you’ll need the space for kiddie gear. Learn to use the stroller/car seat now, and not on 3 hours sleep with your nursing bra on backwards.

I look forward to your suggestions my fellow Kid Scoopers!