If you and I are in the midst of exchanging “Hello, I’ve just met you” pleasantries, your first impression of me might be that I am a performer on a cruise ship. This is not […]
If you and I are in the midst of exchanging “Hello, I’ve just met you” pleasantries, your first impression of me might be that I am a performer on a cruise ship. This is not because of the large Vegas Showgirl headdress I wear, it’s due to another strange quality. As we stand discussing paramount subjects, like the color of our babies’ poop and how many times we’re spit-up on in a day, you might feel the need to take your Dramamine. I. Can’t. Stop. Swaying.
“…You won’t be able to stop swaying.” A mom friend of mine offhandedly remarked a month or so before my due date.
Swaying? Why was I going to be swaying?
I stood there smiling trying to take in yet another piece of unsolicited “mom” advice, but I really had no idea what she was talking about. At nine months pregnant, I couldn’t stop peeing, so “swaying” was the least of my worries. I had more pressing concerns—like finding a bathroom. Again.
And now I can’t stop.
I am addicted.
I am a swayer.
Any and all times I am standing holding my baby, I am swaying. It doesn’t matter if I’m holding a content, sleeping baby or a screaming, “hangry” baby. (Hungry + Angry = Hangry) I am swaying. I’m surprised my little one doesn’t throw up from the amount of rocking back and forth that we do together. (Come to think about it, he has been throwing up more. Do they make Baby Dramamine?)
Swaying wasn’t even something I thought about. It just happened. Is this innate in all moms? It is some sort of unconscious instinctual weirdness like Mom Hearing or the Mom Being Able to Eat Everything in the Refrigerator and Still Have Room for Dessert thing? (That last one might be just me.)
You’d think, though, that the baby in my arms would trigger my auto-swaying, but you’d be wrong. I sway when I’m alone in the shower. I sway in line at the grocery store. I sway standing at the sink. I don’t need to a baby to sway. What I need is an off switch.
So, if we meet, just smile at my swaying self, and know that I have no idea I’m making you slightly nauseated. If you’re a mom, feel free to sway along with me.
Or just pretend there’s a nice Barry Manilow song playing.