Last night, I was at a party with two sets of new parents who had babies the same age as ours. It was amazing how, in just four months, the six of us have acquired an entirely new set of vocabulary—vocabulary that, frankly, held no interest for me four months ago. When my best friend first mentioned the bumbo chair, I kept confusing that with the boppy pillow my sister-in-law was sending us. Hey, they both had strange names that started with a “b” and they were both contraptions for babies. How different could they be?
“Matthew rolled over yesterday!” Peter announced almost as soon as he saw us.
I felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Why wasn’t my baby rolling over already?
“Hannah is sleeping through the night and we just moved her to her own crib in her own room,” Josh said.
“Wow,” I marveled. “How often does she get up during the night?”
“Once, around 4 a.m.,” Josh said.
“Lucky,” I said, feeling another momentary pang. I’m still nursing 3 or 4 times a night.
“So I’ve discovered that Matthew’s last pooh of the night is around 10 or 10:30 at night,” Becky started telling me. “And his first pooh of the day is around 4 o’clock in the morning.”
We both looked at Joseph, single, no kids, and listening to our conversation with a tiny little smile on his face.
“You’re talking about pooh at a party,” my husband Chris said.
“Sorry,” we apologized.
I used to talk books and history and politics and religion at parties. Now I’ve become that boring old parent who has nothing more interesting to talk about than how frequent and when our babies poop, how often and when they sleep, and whether their excessive slobber indicates they are on their way to teething early.
Wow. Parenthood really does change you.