Everyone knows that there are sacrifices you make when you become a parent: sleeping through the night, eating at fancy restaurants, sleeping in late, having long talks with your spouse, sleeping. But some things no one ever warned me about. I miss:
--Riding escalators, instead of waiting for an elevator and trying to wrestle a stroller into it next to three old ladies who won't move over and getting stuck in the doors.
--Getting out of the car, slamming the door, and walking away, instead of spending ten minutes trying to silently remove the 30-pound carseat with the sleeping Princess carefully ensconced in it without waking her or dropping it, only to wake her up by shutting the car door. And then realizing I've locked my keys inside. Again.
--Pulling open double doors and just walking through them, like it's nothing. Double doors are my nemesis. I pull one open, wedge it with my hip, press my ass attractively against the glass as I bend over to pull the front of the stroller through, get a wheel caught, wake the baby, yank the stroller free, and fall over. And fuck Blockbuster for having TWO sets of double doors.
--Having tiny, soft hairs on the nape of my neck. The King once said they were one of his favorite things about me, because they're so delicate and hidden. Now they are gone, yanked out by the Princess's grubby hands.