I didn't learn a lot from this book... I'm in the trenches, so I "get it". Props to the author for spelling it out for those who think parenting means watching soaps and eating bon-bons while Jr plays quietly in the background.
Here's a summary of a day in the life, read this, and save yourself from reading the book.
It begins with the sacrifice of your body. The little miracle grows inside of you, swelling your boobs, butt and belly to epic proportions. Some jerk will ask if you are expecting twins (you aren't) and you smile and say "Triplets, actually" or "I'm not pregnant, I just like beer". Then the birthing comes. Beautiful my ass! You push out turds, you yell, you sweat. The pain is gone the minute you place eyes onto this child, slimy, wrinkled creature, alien and beautiful. (Adoptive parents, you suffer thru your own labor, worrying about paperwork and biological parents...) The first six months are hell. Granted, there is magic in those little feet and hands, and watching that baby develop... but it's tough. You are exhausted due to baby sleeping patterns. If you breast feed, you are like a cow at the county fair - Step Right UP! See the amazing milk machine! Your boobs out all the time for the little lamprey... (said with affection in case one misses my sarcasm) oh diapers! As soon as you change it, your senses are attacked: hmm. I smell poop. AGAIN! I hear a rumble! AHHHH! He grows and gets mobile, you worry about him jamming forks into electric outlets, putting god-awful things into his mouth, and knocking over furniture onto himself. It takes you an hour to walk around the block as you are explaining drains, sewers and fire hydrants... then you play in the sandbox, making castles and roads... you make snacks CONSTANTLY! You learn that cheerios and milk make an amazingly tough paste. Then you try to keep him occupied while you clean and make dinner, only to find he's figured out how to open the shampoo bottle (how did he get to that??) and poured the contents onto the floor, rubbing his hands and feet in the slippery mess in a bizarre form of toddler art. As you clean that you see an old sippy cup under the couch... so old whatever liquid was in it has become solid. At this point, there has been a diaper blow out (a.k.a. shit explosion) potty training has not been too successful yet, although your little angel has figured out how to flush the toilet, regrettably he used your watch as a substitute for his turds... so you get that cleaned up and smell something burning. Damn! Dinner! You race to the kitchen to find your toddler has figured out how to pull a chair to the desk and open a pen... more artistic genius scribbled on papers for work, bills, himself and if you are not so lucky, the floor/walls. You give the sweetie a bath, and it dawns on you you've missed your shower this morning because he peed thru his pj's and you were changing and washing bedding... you dress the child for the 12th time that day when the Jehovah's witnesses come to the door. They see the child and ask "do you work or stay at home"?
You dismember the bodies in the basement, and quietly bury them beneath the swing set that night.
I won't go into the after school running around for last minute science projects and sporting events, musical instruments accidentally run over by the car, teaching them how to ride a bike and throw a ball (and repair a window), calming a child after a fight with a friend or first heartbreak, teaching them to drive, and busting them sneaking out in the middle of the night.
It is a rich, wonderful thing, being a parent.
Who knew the heart could hold so much love!?
If you are lucky, someday you child will understand everything you have done and sincerely say, "thank you".
Go call your moms.