I have grown so accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night that it is now part of my routine. The minute you become a parent, everyone starts asking if your child is sleeping through the night. By the time that this blessed miracle actually occurs, it’s too late. The uninterrupted 8-10 hour sleep cycle of your youth is ruined, a distant memory. I’d like to believe that it will return again someday, but my husband snores and my dog jingles his tags. I used to be able to tune these noises out, but now I seem to have developed super sleep hearing powers.

So here I sit at 2:30am on Thanksgiving morning, awake without reason, waiting for my body to tell me that it’s ready for its second nap. It’s not all bad, these unnecessary wake up calls have their perks. The house is peaceful, dark and quiet (at least it is upstairs, away from the snores). Sam stuffs himself under my feet or rests his head in my lap, grateful for an opportunity to once again have my full attention, the original two. I get the bills paid, emails caught up, and window shop the giant mall that is the internet. I eat a snack without having to share any bites. If I have to be awake, might as well make it count.

As I started up the stairs this morning, I began to notice a foul aroma, building in intensity as I climbed higher. I dreaded the contents of the diaper I was about to change, but nothing could have prepared me for the carnage I was about to witness.

I could hear my delightful baby happily chirping and squeaking in his crib as I opened the door and turned on the light. The smell reached its maximum potential and I struggled not to gag. As my eyes adjusted, I was alarmed to see dark spots on the sheets in the crib. Large brown smears covered the once teal elephants. Sleepytime Puppy was slumped dejectedly over in a corner, another victim of the disaster. The soft, pastel blanket I had often cuddled my sweet-smelling boy in before bed was now something I couldn’t bring myself to touch with a ten foot pole.

My mind raced and my heart started to pound as I struggled to comprehend what had caused this unwelcome introduction to the morning. Finally, I allowed my disbelieving eyes to drift over to my joyful son. He giggled as a loud gasp escaped my lips. Never before had I been so reluctant to approach him, but the feces-encrusted hair and pudgy, fudgy fingers conflicted with my maternal instincts.

I glanced around the room frantically, trying to find some way to clean him and the crib without actually touching either one. Gingerly, I wrapped a (temporarily) clean bath towel around the young monster and promptly deposited him in the tub. After much scrubbing with plenty of soap, I could finally bring myself to give him his morning hugs and then proceeded to trap him in his highchair with a waffle. Then I calmly went upstairs to light a match and burn down his room.

When I made the decision to return to work after maternity leave, I was heartbroken. I felt guilty, worried and terrified, even though I liked the daycare, their staff and my job. After dropping off my son, I sobbed in my car every morning for at least the first month. I would cry as I pumped or hid in the bathroom. Occasionally, tears would start as I simply sat at my desk or in a meeting. When I left work, I was filled with a feeling close to panic as I raced to pick him up, like I just couldn’t get there fast enough. He consumed my every thought and a call from the daycare midday would send my fragile hormonal mind into a frenzy.

I wrestled with the decision to work, wondering if I would regret not staying home to raise my son on my own. As the months went on, I was surprised to notice that it got easier. The body shaking sobs turned to sniffles, I could make it through an entire work day without ruining my makeup, I no longer felt the need to yell at people who were driving too slow during the evening rush.

I began to marvel at the way my little boy seemed to blow through every milestone early and with ease. I was surprised by his social nature, he seemed to love everyone, delighting every friend and relative with outstretched arms and huge smiles. He was content to play on his own for short periods as I unloaded the dishwasher or cooked dinner. The daycare teachers gently prompted me when it was time for me to take new steps that I wasn’t sure I was ready for, like eating cheerios and trying sippy cups.

It dawned on me how much I might have held him back if it had been up to me to raise him on my own. As a mother, it’s natural to want to hold onto to the sweet, tiny baby for as long as possible, but being a parent is about constantly letting go. Sometimes, you need someone to remind you to let go. As a new parent, it’s especially hard to keep up with all the tasks they should accomplish by a specific age. Good daycare teachers already have this knowledge and training engrained in their being. I’m fairly certain that if I had decided to be a stay at home mom, I would have given him 100% of my attention and in return he would cling to me for dear life. I’m naturally introverted, so we would have stayed at home most days, with only each other for company. He would depend on me for everything, cry when he encountered new people, be uncertain about how to engage with other children and refuse to eat new foods because I was afraid to let him try them. He would likely not be eating with a fork, helping me put away toys, opening and closing doors, and accomplishing any of the plethora of tiny tasks that never cease to amaze me.

I’m sure there are plenty of stay-at-home moms who are rockstars and have developed tiny geniuses based on carefully planned playdates and activities, but I just don’t think I’d be that good at it. I’m not saying I didn’t teach him anything or that I’m a total failure. He’s a great dancer and ball player and that’s definitely me. He loves reading and swimming and singing because I taught him those things. He is gentle and generous with our middle-aged dog, loves to be outside and always has time for hugs and cuddles and those are things they just don’t teach as well at daycare. I was reluctant to admit it at first, but it really does take a village to raise a child. People are all so different and unique and they need to see and understand that from an early age to develop patience and tolerance.

So rest assured new working moms, it will (eventually) be okay. Great, even. Appreciate that maternity leave, however unreasonably short it may be, and return to your job with the knowledge that it won’t be this hard forever. It might even be better than you could have imagined.

I hate adulting. And I don’t mean that I hate being an adult. I actually love it. I can eat ice-cream for dinner, go to bed whenever I want, make my own decisions and I even enjoy the satisfaction of paying bills.

What I hate is the actual term, “adulting,” that I keep hearing 20-somethings use every time they “accomplish” something:

“You guys! I am so good at adulting, I cooked my own dinner and remembered to water the plants!”

“Paid my rent on time this month #adulting.”

“Adulting so hard in my pencil skirt!”

It is sad to me that a 20-something feels the need to brag about the fact that they have just now learned to prepare a meal, wear real clothes, be responsible or take care of something other than themselves. My parents taught me how to do this stuff when I was in middle school. Hence the reason I had created my own business, learned how to budget and plan, cared for our dog, and prepared simple meals by the time I was 13. If you’re 20+ and just now figuring it out, I wouldn’t brag about it. I feel as embarrassed for you as I do for someone who hasn’t yet learned to read.

Grow up and take some initiative. You’re too old to be cute. These are the things you should know how to do by the time you’re 20 (it doesn’t mean you have to like them), no exceptions:

• Cook simple meals.
• Buy work appropriate clothing.
• Shop for groceries and use coupons.
• Budget.
• Pay bills on time.
• Create a resume and apply for jobs.
• Keep a plant alive.
• Keep an animal alive.
• Care for a small child.
• Do laundry.
• Clean.
• Make a doctor’s appointment.
• Open a bank account.
• Manage a credit card responsibly.
• Check the oil and tire pressure in your car.
• Have a conversation without looking at your phone.
• Contribute to your retirement.
• Get insurance-car, health, renter’s.
• Unclog a drain.
• Own and use basic tools-hammer, nails, screwdriver, tape measure.
• Stop bragging about your inability to handle basic real-world tasks.