Babies don't care that you've had to pee for the last fifty-two minutes. You'll just have to keep holding it until they're down for a nap, even though for every half-hour you spend shushing and soothing, you put them down for two seconds and they cry so hard you have to start all over again.
Babies don't care that your breakfast is sitting on the kitchen counter getting cold. After all, it doesn't make a difference to them if you keep reheating the same thing over and over, forgetting to eat it because something more pressing comes up every time.
Babies don't care that the middle of the baking goods aisle at the grocery store is not a good place to poop so much it explodes up their back and into their hair. They really couldn't care less that the thought of lugging them and the entire cart to the bathroom for an epic diaper change and improvised sponge bath makes you want to cry.
Babies don't care that their older siblings need you, too. When they come home from school there are permission slips to be signed and friend drama to work out and homework to help with (although you have to Google how to do it yourself first.) But your baby wants your full attention and will wail so loudly you can't hear each other even if you're standing two feet apart and yelling.
Babies don't care when you're trying to make dinner. You take turns either speed-cooking with a screaming baby at your feet or trying to do everything one-handed while pudgy fingers grab for every spatula, plate, and measuring cup in sight.
Babies don't care that you've just collapsed into bed ten minutes ago, feeling crushed by an exhaustion so intense it's killed your short-term memory and your vocabulary. They will wake up crying anyway, and you'll somehow find the strength to heave yourself up out of bed and stumble over to the crib.
The baby will stop crying when you shuffle into view - because babies don't care that the purple circles beneath your eyes are as dark as eggplants. You may look like a hot mess, but they think you are beautiful.
You'll automatically run through the checklist: change the diaper, feed the tummy, find the pacifier, redo the swaddle. You'll sing an off-key song from the radio with lyrics you don't even know half of, and it will work because babies don't care if you can sing.
That's the thing about babies: they just don't care. Not that you permanently smell like sour milk. Not that you miss appointments and never return phone calls. Not that you haven't mopped the floor since they were born and may potentially never do it again.
You'll screw up practically every day and find that babies still (shockingly, inexplicably) don't care. You'll pinch a chubby thigh in the car seat. You'll forget the diapers, the bottle, and the blanket at home. You'll go for days before realizing their fussiness isn't just moodiness, it's an awful ear infection. You'll be slow to forgive yourself, but your baby won't be.
You really don't have a clue what you're doing, but they will just continue to love you anyway. Because babies don't care.