PMS: Pretending Mom's Sane

Motherhood Mayhem

If I keep my eyes on GOD, I won't trip over my own feet.

PSALM 25:15 MSG

As a first-time, expectant mom, I smiled in breathless awe as I prepared the baby's room, washing crinkly stiffness out of brand-new crib sheets, smoothing them to perfection over the mattress of the newly assembled crib, and arranging — then rearranging — adorable baby animal–themed mobiles and pillows in anticipation of the arrival of my precious son.

Every morning I stood by my baby's bed and lovingly patted the sacred, hallowed place he would lay his sweet little head.

Then one day, my hand came up hairy. What was this? Cat hair? In my baby's bed? No. No. NO!

I hid behind the couch, spying on our snowy-white cat, Shawna. Sure enough, she'd taken to jumping up and sleeping in the crib. In the all-about-me nature of felines, she'd apparently assumed that her humans had provided this soft new domicile just for her napping pleasure. After all, up to that point, she'd been the sole recipient of our love and attention — our furry baby.

Okay. Surely this misunderstanding could be resolved. Shawna simply had to learn her boundaries.

I gently shooed her out. She leaped right back in.

I hoisted her out of the forbidden crib and transplanted her to the opposite side of the house. Ten minutes later, she was back, whiskers bristling and tail twitching in annoyance.

"Nuh-uh, you bad girl!" I fussed, attempting to use her food bowl as redirection. She turned up her nose and hightailed it back to the nursery.

I chased her with a shoe. She hissed at me.

Do demons possess cats?

The war was on. But that strong-willed feline kept winning every battle.

So I shut the door. Shawna would surely forget about the crib during the remaining weeks until the baby came.

Ahhh. Enter beautiful baby Matthew. His name means "God's gift."

Yep, that's what we tell people, anyway.

In truth (now don't judge me, girlfriend), Chuck and immensely pregnant I chose that name during a midnight showing of Invasion of the Body Snatchers at the local theater. The lead character Matthew (played by Donald Sutherland) was being chased by human-replacing aliens hatched from grotesquely throbbing, mucus-oozing, casket-sized pea pods (inspiring plot, right?). After we'd listened to evil aliens shout, "Mat-thewww ... Matthewww ...," for two hours, the name sorta stuck.

But hey, it sounds a lot Christian-er to say he's "God's gift," don't you think?

I digress.

So we brought our delightful bundle of joy home from the hospital, took a bazillion photos, beamed as relatives, friends, and neighbors oohed and aahed, then tiptoed into the nursery to lay the sleeping infant in his crib.

But someone was already there.

Shawna had reclaimed her territory.

The battle of wills resumed, both sides more ardent than ever: In, out. In, out. In, OUT!

Then the dreadful last straw when I peeked in to check on my peacefully sleeping baby and found the infernal cat draped across his warm little head.

"That's it!" I cried. "You're outta here!" Snatching Shawna up like a four-legged rag doll, I heaved her out the front door. "See how you like being an outdoor cat from now on."

Well, she didn't like it one smidgen, no ma'am. That stubborn critter dashed inside every time the door opened, only to be rounded up and tossed back out. Her outrage was palpable. Hell hath no fury like a female scorned ... regardless of the species. She was one torqued, snarling, revengeful soul, let me tell you.

Then one Sunday morning I found her perched on the couch like the queen she was convinced she was. She'd apparently snuck in and decided to demonstrate her smug sovereignty. Ousted yet again. But wait. Something seemed ... off.

On the ride to church, I kept sniffing. Hmm. Did the baby need a diaper change? No, but something wasn't right; I just couldn't put my finger on it.

A faint acrid odor kept niggling my senses during the worship songs. Then as the pastor began preaching, I reached into my purse for a pen to take notes. Yikes! What in the world? It was sopping wet in there! I held up my dripping pen and a sodden roll of Life Savers — now black and slimy — as the sharp ewww of ammonia slapped heads in my direction.

Cat urine. That spiteful cat had taken revenge by peeing in my purse.

How she managed to straddle my open purse (a male I could understand, but a female?) will forever remain a mystery, but everything in there was completely ruined. My wallet and all it contained ... saturated. And the horrific smell! Gag. I ended up having to throw that purse and its contents away. Except the cash. I'm far too, um, frugal (some might even say tightwadical) for that.

The only positive consequence was that it was a great excuse to spend those reeking bills faster than a bride at Bloomingdale's. I deftly ignored the wrinkled noses and arched eyebrows of the poor cashiers handling the nasty stuff. They doubtless thought I'd fished it out of a sewer.

Sigh. Just another day in a mother's life, right?

Challenges are definitely part of the motherhood download. No getting around it, so we just have to get through it. Not only must we manage the moods and ravages of our own roller-coaster hormones, we somehow have to juggle the craziness balls of everyone else under our roof.

Jealous pets are just one of the milder hazards. Between midnight colic, leaky diapers, projectile vomiting, weapons of mass destruction (toddlers), car-seat chaos, skinned appendages, gum-matted hair,...