What I didn't expect

I've been a mommy now for exactly 973 days (1229 if you count my pregnancy). No big anniversary here...I just wanted to count it. I guess I could celebrate reaching 1000 in 27 days (that's July 30th if you're reading this Peanut-lover).

There were a lot of things about being a mommy that I expected.

I expected the sleep-deprivation and the huge adjustment to becoming a parent. (Although really, there is no way to prepare for the complete shock it induces). I expected to adore morning cuddles in bed. I expected to resent setting my own wants aside to give my children what they need. I expected to be listening to the same kids' music over and over until I feel like donating my sense of hearing to the deaf. I expected the changes in my body. If my old body ever wanted to come back, however, I would welcome her with open arms. (Old body, did you hear that? Come home. Your key still fits in the lock. All will be forgiven.)

What I didn't expect? Bruises. Bruises everywhere. At any given moment, I have at least 3 bruises somewhere on my body, in varying states of colorful healing. Currently, I have two little brown ones on my thigh, one yellow one on each calf, and let me just turn around...whoa! how'd I get that one?!

It's all these dang toys! I crash into the jumperoo when I misjudge my step around it. I trip over a doll's shoe and there's a new bruise where I caught myself with my arm. I finally get a chance to sit down and ouch! there's Mary from the little people set. And on my way up from the parking garage, you know I must be crashing into doorways and corners balancing an occupied carseat, a diaper bag, a purse, and an abandoned doll. (Yes, that's the same doll that she promised to carry herself).

Bruises. They should warn you about that in the baby books.