I’m Not Usher, But These Are My Confessions – Liquor in the Morning and Glory Moments of Parenting

Sometimes I Just Leave My Toddler Lying In The Middle of The Floor

Can we all just acknowledge that snowsuits are like one piece bathing suits for babies- impossible to get on, painful to remove and God help you if nature calls? Anyway so Mini-Tex has this routine of falling asleep in his stroller and then I half lift, half drop the stroller on its way up the stairs into the house, park him in the entranceway, without throwing on the brake because that would wake him up, so I hope that there isn’t an earthquake while he naps, otherwise the stroller might roll across the hall and down the stairs. Also, Mini-Tex sleeps in his snowsuit because removing it is next to impossible and I always feel like I’m about to break one of his tiny arms in the process, but I prevent him from overheating by turning down the heat. I then curl up five blankets and make believe that I’m in Siberia, I would do a Russian accent to help sell the idea but I’m atrocious at accents.

For the most part, my son and I had both accepted this new sleeping arrangement. Then it snowed. Like apocalyptic Siberian Russia snow. There was so much snow that the stroller was an impossibility. But staying home was not, because I’m addicted to the grocery store’s contest so we needed to buy pickles and detergent. That’s when I broke out the sled. Mini-Tex thought it was pretty great, and like clockwork he fell asleep as we turned the corner down our street. As I lifted him out, he kind of woke up. He was still tired in that “I’m just so warm in this one-piece-oversized-down-filled-bathing-suit-strait-jacket-thing kind of way” so I laid him on the floor. And he just stayed there. Didn’t say anything, so I walked away, and his eyes kind of closed but not all the way. So I left Mini-Tex awake on the floor, then I picked up my two year old, French, trashy magazine and read for a couple of minutes before checking to determine that he was out. And I left him there, sleeping in the middle of the floor. One of my finest hours as a parent.

I Call It “Baby Fetch”

Listen, sometimes, you just need a minute. Occasionally it’s to make coffee and you hand your child a package of fire engine stickers which ends with tiny fire engine sized carpets after your child sticks the entire sheet to the rug and in attempting to remove the stickers you create fire engine shaped bald patches in the rug and a handful of fuzzy, miniature carpets. Other times, well, you’re out of stickers, so you get creative. Baby Fetch was invented while I was trying to write a letter, Mini Tex wanted to play soccer. Instead I threw his beach ball as far as I could and he ran after it. In between throws I’d pen a handful of words. I regret nothing because Mini-Tex is going to show that Golden Doodle who’s boss at the park this summer.

At This Point In The Winter, I’m Debating Wrapping Him In A Couple Of Duvets And Calling It A Day- Obviously I’d Make His Head Stick Out, So I Don’t See The Problem With This

We’ve agreed that snowsuits are winter’s answer to one piece bathing suits? Uncomfortable, only used a couple months of the year and wearing them during your teens will get you laughed at etc. My biggest beef with snowsuits is that I don’t know where my baby ends and the snowsuit begins. Problematic from the point of view of “Are you cold?” randomly fondles the snowsuit, “Oh you’re just fine”. When really your baby’s hand is an ice cube but you can’t find it in the endless folds of fabric.

The worst example of this was the ten minutes that Mini-Tex spent with two legs shoved into one pant leg of his snow suit. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the snowsuit wasn’t fitting properly and then when I finally realized the problem, I was so fed up with the entire business that I needed a break. So I left Mini-Tex lying in the middle of the floor with his little legs pinned together while I regrouped in the bedroom upstairs and debated a ten AM vodka shot because we’ve established that I’m an awe inspiring parent. One would think that I’d realize that an entire pant leg was just fabric but nope, because snowsuits take your children and make them significantly larger. It’s like taking a small European child and making them North American in five minutes or less.

I would say if you must judge me, bring me hard liquor first, or offer to dress my son for playing the snow.

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Five Things Friday : Bidets and Barfights with Babies

  1. We got a bidet!

Not actually, however I had an extremely similar experience when I went to sit down and my son lifted up the toilet seat at the last second. In case you’re wondering, this scores high on the toddler amusement list, right after farting loudly during prayers at a Sunday church service.

  1. Bobby pins 7 : Me 1

I keep losing the game of Find all the Bobby Pins before bed. My hair is unconscionably long, and still curly which means that it takes no less than at least twelve bobby pins for me to look as unkempt as Helena Bonham Carter on a good day. Otherwise I look like a graying Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City circa season one. While I rock at putting bobby pins into my hair, they tend to twist and bury themselves so that I can’t find them at the end of the day, that is until I roll over and stab myself in the head while falling asleep.

 

  1. Welcome to our Ice Hotel

I slept on a bed of ice! You know those iconic photos of the ice hotels? It was exactly like that. Only not really, because it was my bed, in my house. It’s so cold that somehow the mattress froze to the wall and the mattress partially froze too. Come to Canada where it isn’t even warm indoors!

  1. You should see the other guy

Mini-Tex head butted me in an attempt to escape being shoved into his snow suit and gave me a black eye. So I’ve been putting on cover up all week and feeling like a bad ass when actually I’m merely a bad parent because my reaction was to stop going outside ever, to prevent further injuries. Mini-Tex was completely unharmed in case you were concern, by contrast I saw stars.

  1. Next come the flame throwing lessons

I taught our two year old how to scale the four foot high ladder section of his play structure, figuring that our cautious non-climbing child would never attempt such a maneuver on his own. In other news, I shall be eating my hat along with my words and clearly idiotic intentions.

What’s In My Bag?

Celebrities are always upending their totes and clutches to share with the world the all-important items they can’t live without: La Montagne cream made from the buttocks of Himalayan llamas to give their skin that bouncy, mountain-kissed glow; photosynthesizing wipes because using pure chlorophyll to wash your hands is the greenest alternative of all and of course drugstore sunglasses to make them seem down to earth. Being that I am a big time blogger known the next street over (Hi Mrs. Kasnicki!), I decided it was high time I share what’s in my bag.

A plain metal credit card case – At one point a decade ago it had metal designs on it, those got rubbed/chipped off. Just as well- who can commit to a design they liked ten years ago?

A blobby keychain that measures the UV index – These come free with every order of my UV shirts although it’s always sunburn o’clock for me. Other non vampires might find this gadget useful but they’re probably not the ones ordering UV protective clothing.

Reusable diapers – Being a card carrying hippie, this is my billboard to the world that I believe in saving the environment by handling my son’s waste as much is humanly possible while making sure his butt is GIANT. Others may toss their offspring’s urine into the trash with disposable diapers, but I carry it around with me so the pee can ferment in my bag until I remember to throw it in the wash two weeks later. This is how much I love trees.

Something brown, gooey and squishy – Oh good grief, it smells too! I’m fairly sure this was my son’s snack at one point, regardless; it’s going in the compost.

Huggies diaper wipes – There are reusable wipes at home, but packing the spray bottle to wet them seems a bit much.

110 SPF sunscreen – Tex hides tubes of this stuff everywhere like he’s the Easter bunny of skin protection. He knows the only thing worse than a grumpy wife is a sunburned one.

Tiny nail clippers – Newborns and babies look so defenseless until they sink their ten miniatures daggers into the fleshy part of your neck. Supposedly daily trimming prevents this carnage. That hasn’t been my experience though.

A lone red silicone muffin cup – Because sometimes I like to bake on the go. In small batches. No, actually it’s Mini-Tex’s favourite toy. Who knew bake ware could be so versatile? It goes from being a hat to a Frisbee to a teether in under a minute.

Aside from the crumbs of a thousand smushed baby crackers, that’s everything in my bag. What can’t you live without?

Orgies, Meth Labs and Theft: How To Properly Welcome a Babysitter


Dear Stacy,

Thank you so much for coming over to watch our son, it’s been so long since my husband and I have had a care-free evening alone. To make your night easier, we thought we should let you know a couple of things. First off, the heroin is kept in the cupboard above the fridge. It’s difficult to reach but you know how it is; if the heroin is on the counter, no one wants to finish their dinner. You’re welcome to help yourself.

 

If you decide to host an orgy, please use the living room rather than the dining room. Not only is the living room larger, and thus can accommodate more bodies, but the dark patterned flooring hides stains well. Most importantly though, the rug in the living room is much plusher and therefore easier on the bottom of whomever ends up on the bottom.

 

For run-of-the-mill, just your boyfriend sex, our bed is best. The bedroom set in the guest room was my grandmother’s and may not stand up to vigorous activity. Remember- safety first!

 

The valuables are hidden in a ventilation duct above our TV in the basement. I suggest Kijiji over the city’s buy and sell Facebook pages, items fetch higher prices there. Be sure to really extend your arm into the vent so you don’t miss the antique silverware.

 

For the purposes of a meth lab, the rec room strikes the ideal balance between ventilation and secrecy. It’s location around the back of the house hides the room from the street and a bush partially obscures the window. In addition, the kitchen fan is only a couple feet away, rendering it the perfect place for you to re-enact “Breaking Bad”.

 

Great news! We just got home internet which should simplify the set-up of a prostitution ring, as I’ve heard that pimps have moved off the street and online. The password to our network is dirtsquirrel1.

 

That should prepare you for every possibility tonight except if you decide to start a cult, in which case, my apologies, I should have left more chips and dip.
Thanks so much, we’ll be back around ten.

Diary Excerpts: Monkey Balls, Feces Rinse Cycles and Laundry Mountains

Dear Diary,

The world=balls right now.

Giant hairy monkey balls that make you question why anyone wants to visit the zoo.

Diary, in case you forgot what my schedule looks like this month, let me remind you.

March 28th – T-minus 28 days until we move to a new house in a new town.

March 29th- Realize that there is a trip in two days and that in addition to not packing, you have no clothes. Frantically wash diapers. Then wash diapers again because you totally sent a poop filled diaper through the wash. Resolve never to inform Tex that this happened because it would scar him and he’d purchase a new washer.

March 30th – Wonder what in the heck you’ve been doing with your time as nothing is packed and the diapers are still lying disassembled in the basement. Put on same clothes as yesterday because -why not? It’s maternity leave, they don’t smell and no one will realize that you don’t do laundry.

This plan works until you pick up the babysitter from school and realize that she saw you in the identical outfit and will probably go home and tell her mother that she hates working for dirty people who insist on washing their baby’s feces.

March 31st- Why are there only five photo albums in a suitcase? WHY? You can’t wear your vacation pictures all weekend. Also why isn’t the laundry done? What kind of cockamamie, well endowed monkey is running this place?

April 1st- Arrived at family function late last night. Remembered everything except for shoes. Which is fine, muddy rubber boots and designer dresses fit the high/low chic trend this year.

April 2nd- Speed home with screaming baby in the car for four hours to make it just in the nick of time to Tex’s concert. Which feels less like the movie “Speed” and more like one of the characters out of the movie franchise “Saw”, who is slowly being tortured to death by having each of their finger and toe nails removed.

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The hunkiness factor of traveling with a baby is zero. The wanting-to-saw-a-limb-off-to-make-it-stop factor is about three squigillion. (Photo Credit cinemablend.com)

April 3rd – Pretend that you can take the day off from packing, laundering and general preparation.

April 4th – Curse yourself and your laziness, because tomorrow, you, Tex and Mini-Tex are shooting yourselves into the wild blue yonder to attend a conference for Tex’s work. Your day now =laundry. Endless laundry.

April 5th- Repeat the whole “Saw”/”Speed” scenario on drive to the airport. Cave at the airport and put “Peppa Pig” on the iPad. Wonder if this cartoon was the inspiration for “Saw” as the narrative drills a hole into your ears and through your brain.

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The original and unlikely villlain of the “Saw” series. (Photo Credit Google Play)

April 6th- Spend fun day with another family that is also attending the conference. Perhaps life is not entirely composed of giant, hairy monkey balls?

April 7th – Poo-pocolypse Now! On public transit! Remember why you loathe both cities and traveling, as you schlep your soiled self and your toddler back to the hotel.

April 8th- Looking around the hotel room, you realize that your belongings have mated, multiplied themselves by ten fold and have staged a take over of the room. In lieu of packing, lie down on the floor and wait for death.

It would seem death isn’t coming. Set about packing up belongings for the fourth time in ten days.

April 9th – Gazing at the suitcase, carry-on, diaper bag, computer bag, toy bag and baby carrier which all need to be lugged back to the airport, you decide to lie down and wait for death however long takes this time. Your helpful husband asks if you can lie down at the bus stop instead. The bus gets to the station seconds after you do, which is just as well, there are far cleaner places to lie down and wait for death.

April 10th – Lie underneath a mountain of laundry as your baby practices his spelunking skills on dirty diaper mountain using your knees and the twenty dirty, cloth diapers. Try to muster up the energy to move. Is impossible. Throw teething cookies in baby’s direction and continue lying on the floor.

April 11th- Saved! Tex returns home and whips around finishing up laundry and making dinner.

April 12th – Have hidden the calendars because otherwise they’d say to pack for the farm to celebrate Easter which would make life more horrible than monkey balls, would be mastadon balls or some other enormous creature.

 

 

Finding Inner Peace with Children: Namest-Hey Put That Down!

Once a week, I attend a class where women stand on mats, jiggle babies and talk about Namaste. It’s called “Baby Yoga”. Because babies need to do yoga because life is hard. Or maybe because moms need yoga, to find inner peace. Regardless, here are instructions on how best to discover calm with a small child.

10:14 – Arrive for the 10:15 baby yoga class. Do a small victory dance over not being late then sprint up the stairs because still need to roll out mat, set up “nest” for Mini-Tex that he won’t use and lay out range of toys for him to ignore.

10:15-10:18 – Shuck off layers and layers and layers of clothing because only crazy people decide to walk in the frigid cold with their babies. Run on tiptoe to not disturb other women who are supposed to be focusing on their breathing but are nursing or swaddling their babies.

10:19- Lie on mat with eyes closed, pretending to focus on breathing but actually listening to Mini-Tex crawl towards a group of unsuspecting three month olds.

10:20- Cock open an eye only to see Mini-Tex playing three month old’s head like a set of bongos. Forget all intentions of inner peace and sprint to move Mini-Tex away from bewildered three month old.

10:21- Am instructed to sit Mini-Tex on lap and do sitting version of cat and cow. The three month olds sit placidly in other mother’s laps. Mini-Tex wiggles his way out of my arms and takes off. Continue doing cat and cow.

10:22 – Inhale, am cat. Exhale, release all tension associated with carrying small person everywhere. Inhale am cat again. Exhale, am cow. Inhale, cat. Exha-where is Mini-Tex? Out of corner of my eye spot him ripping toy out of smaller baby’s hands. Jump up to return stolen plaything.

10:23 – Other moms are windshield wiper-ing knees back and forth. Attempt to convince Mini-Tex to play with toys from home. Mini-Tex has seen said toys and prefers other babies’ toys.

10:24 – Mini Tex takes off, invariably to steal someone’s rattle. Lay back into butterfly pose.

10:25- Feel tension releasing from lower back. Hear noise. Is sound of Mini-Tex climbing all over woman on next mat over. Leap up to move him, feel tension returning as apologize profusely to woman.

10:26 – Carry Mini-Tex to far side of room to area with lots of toys and blankets. Lay back down on mat and lift rear end into bridge pose.

10:27 – Breathe in bridge pose. Close eyes, love bridge pose.

10:28 – Breathe in. Fill self with air. Breathe out, remember how calm feels. Realize Mini-Tex is uncharacteristically silent. Open eyes to see Mini-Tex once more using woman on next mat as jungle gym.

10:29 – Grab Mini-Tex while repeating “Sorry. So sorry” over and over while transporting him back to “nest” next to mat.

10:30- Being in tree pose gives excellent bird’s eye view of Mini-Tex pulling leaves off of nearby decorative tree. Dash to relocate Mini-Tex and save greenery.

10:31 – Lug surprisingly heavy tree into yoga studio bathroom and close door. Mini-Tex has made his way across room and is yanking lamp cord out of wall. Rush to prevent damage to lamp and store it with tree in bathroom.

10:32 – Instructor picks up Mini-Tex and carries him to demonstrate warrior one.

10:33 – Am strong warrior, focus on breathing and keeping knees over big toes.

10:34- Instructor continues to hold Mini-Tex to demonstrate warrior two. Am composed of straight, relaxed lines. Am zen.

10:35 – Mountain pose to chaturanga. Feel peaceful intention slowly returning while instructor wrangles squiggling Mini-Tex.

10:36 – Instructor lets Mini-Tex down to show class proper downward dog. Class follows along. Hear surprised yelp from instructor, look up to see Mini-Tex pulling on her bun as instructor tries to lower to child’s pose. Race to remove tiny baby fingers from instructor’s hair.

10:37 – Place Mini-Tex back in play area at far side of studio. Sit back on mat and rock foot like baby with fingers interlaced between toes.

10:38 – Switch sides to rock other foot and open up other toes. Mini-Tex crawls across room at top speed and grabs hold of curtains to closet, then yanks with all his might. Drop foot baby to catch actual baby.

10:39- 10:47 – Accept defeat and play with Mini-Tex quietly in corner while other women with docile babies in adjacent “nests” do yoga poses.

10:47 – Shavasna.

10:48 – 10:50 – Decide to attempt shavasna pose. Stretch out on mat while Mini-Tex blows raspberries on all available patches of skin.

10: 51- 11:05 – Visit with ladies and well behaved babies. Intercept Mini-Tex’s attempts at toy thievery. Apologize profusely.

11:06 – 11:10 – Layer up. Feeling surprisingly exhausted despite not having done any poses.

11:15 – Find inner peace as Mini-Tex falls asleep in carrier during walk home.

Five Things Friday- The Insults Just Keep Coming

  1. Remember when your mom would subtly leave deodorant on your night stand when you were twelve?

My husband totally did that. Only not with deodorant. He arrived home yesterday and brandished a drugstore bag at me. “Look what I bought” he proudly proclaimed, first pulling out the items he had purchased for himself before getting to the real purpose of his visit to the mall; “I bought you razors and soap.” Essentially my hubby just called me hairy and dirty. Point taken Tex, I won’t wait for an instructional tutorial on how to use both, I promise.

 

  1. My new spa routine

I thought Mini-Tex’s bum being infested by ferrets was bad until this week when he learned how to whistle. Well, not whistle exactly, but exhale using his mouth. He likes to practice this trick while we are feeding him. So not only is everything in the kitchen and living area covered with spatters of breastmilk mixed with apple from when Mini-Tex creates an impromptu catapult using his spoon, but now every time we put some food in his mouth, he reacts by creating a fine spray of baby slobber mixed with gruel. It’s making me consider bathing more than twice a week.

 

  1. The Canadian version of “A Dingo took my baby!”

Much like his parents, Mini-Tex loves the great outdoors. So every day, I haul him, his toys, his jolly jumper and his ring of neglect outside. He loves it, I love it, and the mosquitos love it too. I thought it was bad when at his six month checkup, I had to explain that Mini-Tex didn’t have chicken pox, those were bug bites.

That was nothing compared to watching a small bird half hop, half fly off with a part of my son. Initially it was a small mosquito, but after feeding on Mini-Tex’s chubby little leg while he played in his exersaucer until the tiny pest was actually full to bursting, it morphed from insect into small avian species. Honest to goodness, when I finally spotted the bloodsucker all but draining my son’s little calf, it had the mosquito version of a pot belly. It was so bloated when it tried to take off, it dipped back down to the ground. The mosquito had fed on my baby for so long that it was too fat to fly. I’m pretty sure I’m sucking at this parenting gig.

 

  1. I’m moving to a trailer park

Not really, but I might as well given that I’ve started answering the door topless and if one is going to be super classy, it’s best just to rent the mobile home too. This event caused me to question our neighbourhood as well because the mailman didn’t bat an eye. This may in part be due to the fact that I was wearing a baby and a brassiere at the time, so there was a lot to distract from the nudity.

 

  1. I’ve started an anti-Post Secret blog

That sounded way more negative than it meant to. What I meant was that instead of the world sending me their secrets, I’m sending mine to the world. Only they’re not secrets, it’s mostly nonsense or manatees with facial hair Sharpie-d on. Also the entire world isn’t receiving them. Currently I’ve contained my weirdness to North America and people I know, but I might start looking up either politicians or business executives to infuse their life with random anecdotes about whales.

Five Things Friday- The Random Slutty Baby Infestation Edition

  1. My mother once called me a skank

Ok, maybe not in quite so many words, but I swear that was the take home message. It was during university and after going out on a date with yet another older electrician that I met at the local bar, I commented to my mother that there were a lot of tradesmen who frequented the establishment. She replied “Of course they hang out there- it’s where all the horny co-eds are.” And I was all “Did you just call me a horny co-ed?”*

  1. My baby is infested with ferrets

Have you ever had the experience of meeting someone with horrific halitosis and you’re like “Sir, I don’t know you, but I’m fairly certain that something has died in your mouth. You may want to make the acquaintance of a dentist.” Or at least that’s what I think to myself in those situations. Anyways Mini-Tex started solids and the last three days he’s been “eating” apples. “Eating”  in quotations because in actuality, our entire living space is covered in apple goo and Mini-Tex imbibed three spoonfuls. He hadn’t pooped in a couple of days, apparently because he was plotting to kill me. I opened up his diaper and gagged from the scent. Whatever deceased ferret that inhabits strangers’ mouths with halitosis has taken up residence in my son’s colon. And invited its whole zombie ferret family. Hurray for solid foods.

  1. My last bathing suit decomposed on my body

This sounds less gross than it actually was. That was a lie, it was pretty disgusting. As a hater of both shopping and needless consumerism, I wore my last bathing suit until it wanted to fall off my back. I use the word “wanted” because if it had fallen off, I would have sewn it back on and kept right on swimming. Unfortunately, it decided to die on my back. And chest. And legs. Instead of putting the offensive article out to pasture like any rational person would after fifteen years of service, I continued to wear my bathing suit as the elastic which helped the suit to keep its shape, gradually disintegrated on my body each time I wore it, smearing black indelible stripes onto my pasty white skin. I’ve since bought another of this kind of quasi indestructible swimsuits, I plan on wearing it to the pool when Mini-Tex is a teenager so he has a genuine reason for not wanting to be seen with me.

  1. I’ve started wearing ass-less chaps

It’s the latest in MILF fashion. Actually, not really, but I have started wearing pants because skirts just don’t work when you’re crawling around on the floor after a baby. Also, I donated all of my skorts after my friend Charity, of the stripper name and PhD, pointed out that just because there are shorts underneath, doesn’t mean that you can sit with your legs open like a model posing for Maxim. As a result, I’ve been living in my one pair of cargo pants. However after a visit to the local play place and approximately 3,908 trips down the bouncy castle slide, I’m fairly certain the butt is see-through.

  1. Guess who’s the newest member of Hell’s Angels?

It’s probably not me, but I think I still should get points for walking by the house of a biker gang every single day when I take Mini-Tex for a walk to put him to sleep. The home might not actually belong to the Hell’s Angels, however, I always see at least four bikes parked out front that change each day. And sometimes they ride by me in a group while I’m out walking so I feel like I’m in the newest “Fast and Furious” movie. At the very least, if I go missing, the internet now knows where to find my body.

*In case you’re wondering, she did, my mother totally called me a horny co-ed. It wasn’t like the time that I made up a story about her pushing me down a hill and then yelling “Look at the fat girl! Look at the fat girl!” while I tumbled. Despite the fact that this event never occurred, my mother received much judgment at her gym for it after I spouted the fictional tale loudly in the lobby. My mother has respect for people of all shapes and sizes, except for young ladies looking to get their skank on apparently.

The Art of Parenting

I am the first of my friends to replicate myself. Being in this coveted and feces covered position has gifted me with the high task of bestowing advice and my own carefully gathered nuggets of wisdom to said people. The most commonly posed question is; what is being a Mom like? My response is that ultimately parenting is a mix of three feelings; uncertainty, guilt and a sense of inadequacy.

Uncertainty

You have never done this before, so you are filled with questions. How often should a baby eat? Which way does the diaper go on? I’m covered in derivatives of breastmilk- obviously the other way. Am I reading to him enough? When do I start reading to him? Why isn’t my baby looking at the book? Everyone talks about this being SO HARD, is it because I’m supposed to learn Sanskrit and teach it to my infant?

Guilt

When you can’t answer the questions, you are filled with guilt. This is your little person, who has half of your genes, for whom you are the entire world. They depend entirely on you and you can’t even figure out how many books to read them a day. All you know is thirteen isn’t the answer because the one day you read over a dozen books, your baby screamed for two hours after being so thoroughly overstimulated. Also all the other Moms are learning sign language not Sanskrit. Duh. How is Sanskrit supposed to help the baby communicate earlier and develop their brain so they can get into a good university and be successful at life? Your baby is failing already because of your lack of knowledge. Also the library book you took out on Sanskrit and didn’t read is two months overdue.

A Sense of Inadequacy

All of that guilt snowballs together to create a roaring sense of inadequacy which grabs hold and shakes you awake at night, leading you to conclude that you are most definitely not up to this task. You’re not sure who is up to the feeding, changing, playing, Sanskrit Sign Language teaching task but it’s certainly not you.

The Take Home Message

So parenting is soldiering on, in that face of those three basic emotions. You hug and kiss your baby knowing full well that someone else could do a far better job. Luckily they don’t let babies pick who they go home with after their born, so your small person is stuck with you.

Cowboy Quotables: The Parenting Edition

Although parenting Mini Tex is becoming easier, and for all those who I scared with my description of nursing, allow me to assure you, that element is becoming significantly more enjoyable and comfortable. However there were still a couple of weeks where it was quite painful. While my mother was visiting, my breasts became engorged and took on a pebbled, rock like appearance and feel. I approached Tex with my arms extended, expecting him to hug me, as my mother was RIGHT THERE and said “feel my boobs, they’re like stones”. Instead of wrapping me in a hug to appreciate my rocky mammaries, Tex reaches out and honks my boobs right in front of my mother.

“Tex!” I exclaimed. “You weren’t supposed to do that; you were supposed to hug me!” Luckily my mom found the whole scene amusing and dissolved into laughter. “You asked me to feel them” he responded “Was I supposed to rub my nipples against you to determine their firmness?” He then demonstrated by rubbing his chest against mine. “Yes the test is sensitive but is it specific?”

The nursing related antics didn’t stop there, of course. Throughout the first month of Mini Tex’s life, his Dad and I would trade off having the same nightmare- that Mini Tex was in the bed and encased in blankets despite the fact that Mini Tex had never slept in the bed with us. One night my breasts were particularly large and painful to the point that I couldn’t stand to have fabric against them. Tex woke up panicked and thrashing “Mini Tex is in the bed!” he yelled throwing covers this way and that, accidently brushing one of my painful boobs in the process which were so engorged that they were the size of our son’s head. “No he isn’t” I tried to calmly assure my husband. Still flailing madly trying to find his son in a sea of covers Tex brushed one of my boobs again, “I can feel his head” Tex cried now in a full scale panic. I winced as Tex grabbed my swollen mammary and tried to extricate it from the covers. “That’s my boob” I replied, trying to stay calm as my husband slowly exited his dreamy state.

Having jumped out of the bed to confirm that Mini Tex was in fact asleep in his Moses basket next to the bed, Tex was somewhat calmer but still on edge. “Why would you have your boobs in the bed like that?” The words “because the cupboard seemed like an inconvenient place” seemed mean given how frantic my husband was, so I just apologized.

Aside from the occasional nightmare, Tex is loving parenthood; he plays with Mini Tex, singing songs and saying rhymes although my funny cowboy puts his own spin on the words. “This little piggy went to the market and this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy was very long so he was an urologist.” I find Tex’s versions of nursery rhymes almost as amusing as his thoughts on breast milk.

One night while I was cooking, Tex set the table. “What would you like to drink?” he asked. “Milk” I replied mid stir. “What kind? Human or cow?” Tex asked, then after a moment he paused, “Probably cow, I think the other would be akin to eating your toenails.”