I thought I had been forewarned about everything that would change after having a child. I knew about the sleepless nights, Mommy brain, the inability to travel light. I knew that I would have to give up control over so many parts of my life in order to ebb and flow with my newborn. But nobody warned me about what would happen to my house.
At first, it was hard to tell that there was an infant in the house. I tried to contain all of Ayla’s gear to her tiny room and the closets. But soon, the baby sprawl spread. And spread.
It started at four months when Ayla was learning to sit upright. For that reason, we acquired red, blue and yellow playmats and put them in the living room beside the Persian rug. Soon after, Ayla learned to crawl (off the bed) and since we co-sleep, the “family bed and boxspring” had to go. Instead of a reasonably elegant bedroom, it is now a mattress on the floor with kid-proofed side tables. To be clear, the bedroom is now ugly, but safe.
As Ayla’s motor coordination developed, we needed toys—for the bath, for bed, for the stroller, and for everyday play. On top of the piles of toys, I added books (after all, I’m a writer!) And because I need some time off to write and cook, we acquired a bouncy chair, then an Exer-Saucer. Suddenly, primary-colored objects outnumbered the neutral-toned furniture in the living and dining rooms. Whatever design scheme we might have had was now a memory. The house was officially kid-themed, rather than Urban Zen or African Naturalist.
But the kid furniture, toys and accessories are only the half of it. The mess is the part that I find hardest to bear. After Ayla gained mobility, she spent all day pulling stuff down. Some call this phase “gravity-testing” because anything that is up will eventually be brought down. This can happen six or seven times a day.
I began cleaning the house with a fury, once, twice and eventually three times a day. I would pick up all of the fallen objects and put them back in their rightful place. I would vacuum the floor. Then mop it. I would dust the counters, scrub the tub and pull all remnants of Ayla’s meals from the floor, carpet and nearby furniture. The house would stay clean for exactly ten seconds. But before I could stow the mop, I would hear the crash of Ayla pulling everything down again.
I didn’t know that in addition to giving up my time, my brain, my body and my personal hygiene, that having a baby also required giving up my house. I’ve been fighting it for ten months but I’m finally ready to retire my broom.
Why the change of heart, you might ask?
I recently visited the home of a couple with an 18-month old who just learned to pull the cap off a permanent marker. When we got home, I turned to Ayla and put our house keys in her hands. "I give up," I whispered to her. "It's all yours, baby." And then, for effect, I dumped out my purse and scattered its contents all over the floor!
Musical Note: My sister introduced me to this hauntingly beautiful version of the song, Ooh Child. When I listen to it, it actually takes away the sting of a messy house...