Where am I and How Did I Get Here?

Once upon a time, there was a poor, female college student who had no boyfriend, no family to speak of, and was a workaholic. This girl would talk to her friends about people they knew who "married rich" and was now a stay at home mom. She would wistfully say, "If my husband worked, and all I had to do was stay home with the kids, I would bend over backwards to make his life easier. Shit, he wouldn't have to cook, clean, get up at night. Being a stay-at-home-mom would be THA BOMB!" (Yes this was that long ago.)

Fast forward to, oh about a year ago. This former college student (now college graduate without a job in her field) is now three months pregnant and contemplating her impending life as a mother. If her parents taught her anything it was that balance is important to being a good parent. Oh yes, she would love her child and do anything for the little cutey, but her identity would still be equally as important. She'd never be one of those women who never lost the baby weight, whose roots are three inches long, doesn't wear make-up, and had shit stains (the baby's of course) on her pants. No, she would be a strong independent working mother. Have one day a week for herself. Wake up early to work out. Cuddle little baby Johnny or Janey to sleep, wake him or her up with a kiss in the morning, then lovingly kiss and hug him or her as she trotted of to further her career.

Fast forward to four months ago. Baby Johnny (actually Jackson) is two months old, and after having to be kept in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for two weeks directly after birth, the ex-college student, career woman extraordinaire (me) is sobbing all over her baby after her first day back at work. This is after nearly having to wrestle the baby out of my husbands hands because he wanted to hold Jackson so I could figure out dinner. It's kind of humiliating to cry so hard you're hyperventilating while snot is simultaneously steaming down your face and forming snot bubbles in front of the man who sees you naked, but I suppose that's what love is. At that moment we decided priority number one was me staying at home with my baby. Visions of infant art projects, Pinterest inspired creations, exotic cuisine, and strolling through the park with my little one filled my head. Eventually, by some act of God, my last day of work came and my first day of stay-at-home euphoria began.

And then reality smacked me in the ass.

Now as I am parked in front of the mirror because that is the only place Jackson feels like being to stare at his new best friend (himself), I see my grown out roots, my pudgy belly, and some unidentifiable brown substance on my shirt, I think...what the FUCK happened? When exactly am I suppeosed to put together my scrapbook? How am I supposed to stroll anywhere when this child screams when he's anywhere but in my arms? How do you sweep with a Baby Bjorn on? And cooking? That just sounds like an invitation to the burn unit with my baby. So that begs the question...what now? Is there a way to reconcile my fantasy life and the life I'm actually in?