8

Before I had a kid I used to notice that a lot of moms wear dirty clothes. I would wonder - did that spot JUST get there? Or did you [more likely] put that shirt on knowing full well there is a baby marking on it!! I mean LADIES - can you just choose a different shirt? Grab something from the clean pile instead of the dirty pile?

So…

I have to ask forgiveness from every mother on the whole planet for ever having this judgement of mothers. I know now that, no, you cannot just 'choose a different shirt' because a mother (particularly a new-ish mother) only has two shirts that meet the criteria for public wearing:

     1) The shirt fits well (read: the shirt flatters - if you can call it that - my BELLY FATZZZ & ARM JIGGLEZZZ)
     2) The shirt is fashionable enough to wear out of the house (read: it's at least slightly above the fashion police's Frump cutoff and if it's a maternity top it's not noticeable to the naked eye)
     3) It is easy to nurse a Titty Sucker in this shirt (read: this shirt won't flash my boobies and midriff to all the world when nursing the Tiny in public. And I know what you're thinking. 'Can't you just use one of those nursing cover things?' Yes, you can, and you can also have that thing slip off a shoulder and, WHOOPS! There's a booby. Or it will get whipped open by the flailing arms and legs "hiding" underneath it and, WHOOPS! More booby. So please, for the love of all that's holy, dear Tiny, can you just get the blasted milks out of these hooters and let's move on because Mommy's got some escaping to do at Target OKAY).

Furthermore, the "Clean Pile" and the "Dirty Pile" have now become the "Willing to Wear Again Pile" and the "Can't Pretend This Isn't Dirty Anymore Pile." Struggle is real, people. At this point you might be thinking, 'Hey, why don't you treat yourself to some new clothes?' To which I would reply - YEAH RIGHT AND FIND OUT WHAT SIZE I REALLY AM? And also, OWN REAL CLOTHES IN THAT SIZE? No way, man. Mama's got some more stroller strides to take before she gets in that dressing room.

Don't even get me started on the mutha trucking PANTS!

Seven!

Since having a baby I think a lot about all the adults of the world and what they might have been like as babies. I think about how every single person in the whole world has at one time had their butt wiped by another person. I wonder if they were good sleepers and if they cuddled a lot or not and when they got their first tooth. I wonder if they were fussy brats just like they are now. Heh.

At this risk of sounding blasphemous, I wonder A LOT what Jesus was like as a baby. Did Mary and Joseph have to sleep train him? Did he latch well? When did he roll from his back to his front? How often did he have a blowout? Did Joseph bond with him skin-to-skin? And if he was a perfect baby as I imagine he probably was, I'd really love to ask Mary about the reality check of her second kid coming into the picture. Also, when all the people met up with Mary, Joseph, and the Heavenly Babe in the manger, how did they wrap up their time together? Did Jesus wake up crying and they were all like, "Oh, um, I don't know, uhh... Well I guess we better get home now, it's pretty late." And you know Mary's got to be thinking, "Well thanks for the frankincense GUYS that'll be really helpful during those late night feeds and diaper changes."

So anyway. Here's one last thing:

The other day my husband and I were doing the sleep training thing and we were both glued to the baby monitor (which is silly because our place is so small we can literally hear the Tiny fart from the other side apartment - but this monitor has a video so we can see if he starts squirming…which really only robs us of a few more precious, blissful moments of ignorance before we start hearing the squawks - ANYWAY). Emmett was laying on his belly, which makes my husband crazy. Wayne is afraid Emmett will suffocate, like, immediately, if he isn't flat on his back with both nostrils in clear view of the camera at all times. So we're staring at the monitor and the Tiny's legs move and I say, "Ah! His legs are moving!" and Wayne says, "Good that means he's alive." As if he really thought our baby might be dead?! He did. He couldn't see the nostrils so he really thought our baby might be dead. This is just further proof that, even though we have a healthy, thriving, 4-month-old son, Wayne and I are still just two dumb kids figuring ish out hoping we don't kill anyone in the process. #teamwork #responsible #breath #hashtags

Sixth.

Sleep training. The name of it sounds so strange. Don't babies just sleep whenever they need to? The answer is NO, person who has never had a baby, THEY DO NOT. And the luxury of having a giant swoop in and sway you to sleep whenever you jolly well please, Baby, is not going to last long.

Thirty-six hours into The Training we're working on a nap and THIS happens: I walk into the Tiny's room at the appropriate time during his wakeful protest, lean over the crib, say my script ("Emmett, it's time to go to sleep. Mommy's right outside. I love you."), and I feel his hot milk breath on my face as he wails. Poor guy. The eye contact was the worst part. Like he was saying, "WOMAN! PICK ME UP! HOW COULD YOU BE SO CRUEL!" Those little glassy eyeballs begging for mercy.

It was sad for the next 2 minutes, at which point he stopped crying, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and fell asleep. He fell asleep, people! On his own! Where's the champagne. Where's the confetti poppers. Shh, no, not confetti poppers they'll wake him up.

What should I do now?! Laundry? Dishes? Clean the…ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz