Attack of the Mama Bear

It's been one month since we became a family of four. One month of baby naps against my chest, sniffing the top of her head to take in that newborn smell, and gazing for hours into her perfect face to get a glimpse of who she'll grow to look like. Those first few weeks have the soft, musical feel of a Johnson & Johnson's commercial for baby lotion. Unless, that is, your house is already inhabited by a toddler...

In addition to the tinkling tunes of the mobile above Hadley's crib, you will most likely hear the following at our house...

"You do NOT hit your mama!"

"We do NOT throw corn on the cob at your sister!"

"You need to listen the FIRST TIME!"

"Buddy, this is Hadley's milk. No you can't eat the way she eats."

"Grant, can you burp her? I think she's about to spit u...oh crap...my shirt."

"Please don't touch the breast pump."

"She woke up to eat EVERY HOUR last night. Yes, I'd love a cup of coffee."

"Maybe we should find another place to drive your truck instead of on your sister's head."


Life at our house has turned into a full-fledged circus. Perhaps I could even use our new life-stage as an excuse for laying the smack-down on one jerk-of-a-kid at the playground a couple weeks back. Yes, a very monumental day. It was the first time my claws made an appearance. And all thanks to a bully who made the mistake of messing with my little man. I saw the culprit walk by Barrett and begin smacking the apple-of-my-eye on the rear. Oh no, sir. Game over. As the perp made his way down the slide, I casually walked over. (The fact that the slide was around the corner and out of view from where his mom was standing put the battle in my favor.)

"Hey buddy, you don't touch my kid...you got it? I saw you hit him on the bottom and that's not ok. You may talk to him but you may NOT touch him. Are we clear?"

Poor kid. All he could get out was a "Yes mam" before his little side-kick tried to pipe in with a "You're not my mom". That's all it took for me to launch into a "Well, I'm THAT kid's mom and no one's gonna touch him. ARE WE CLEAR?" I could smell their fear as I towered over them.

With great satisfaction, I watched the two rug-rats hustle over to the safety of their respective moms. As they hid behind their mothers' legs, I gave them a wry smile and my best stink eye. The mothers were none the wiser that a mama bear had just torn their babies a new one.

As I stood watch over Barrett the rest of the morning, I had to wonder how much a lack of sleep,  raging post-pregnancy hormones, and leaky boobs had contributed in my attack. Sure, I would've stood up for my son at any time, but it seems as if adding another cub into the mix and the stress that goes with it had fueled my fire. Can you blame a gal? I have a sneaking suspicion that this will not be the last encounter with mama bear. Be warned, mothers of playground punks...