parent. hood.

yesterday morning, in our new normal of frantic getting out the house haze – you know, the one where the baby has been up since 6am, you dragged yourself out of bed at 6:30am to get him (this is not illegal people, i promise – the crib is a safe, warm space where, if your child is like ours, talks to himself in sometimes legible, sometimes illegible chatter until he finally decides he’s had enough monologuing┬áin the dark and proclaims loudly, “OUT PLEASE”). it’s at this point that i go get my bundle of infinite joy and am greeted simultaneously by a thick wall of poopy diaper funk and nose snot. good morning sunshine. then the dance begins. the kiddo is hungry. he lets you know. the dog needs to pee. you need to pee. and poop (i’m assuming). and wash your face and brush your teeth and look for something to wear not covered in grimy baby hand stains and dog park dirt. and baby daddy who works from home (most of the time this is an amazing arrangement) has important conference calls to be on. baby daddy is also hungry and would appreciate a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee, light and sweet kay thanks. while still marinating in his own overnight poop juices, i set Sebe in his high chair and give him a piece of Dave’s Killer Bread and some yogurt to tide him over while i brew hot water for oatmeal and/or start a batter for french toast sticks. give the dog his breakfast. entertain Sebe while the rest of his breakfast is cooking. this is any combination of singing/dancing around the kitchen re-enacting scenes from West Side Story, The Sound Of Music or Sex And The City (i do a damn good Samantha), all while OPB’s morning stories play in the background. gotta get the news in somehow. make coffee. throw extra french toast on plate for baby daddy. bathroom time. change poopy diaper for a clean one while Sebe takes every. single. thing. out of the cupboard under the sink. he squeezes butt paste out of the butt paste tube. he pulls all of the floss out a full floss container. he plays hide & seek in the shower curtain. clean diaper on. i collect clothes for the both of us. Sebe runs around the house harassing the dog/trying to find my cell phone/feeding himself more of whatever he can pull off the kitchen shelves. sometimes this is rice. uncooked. read his favorite book. twice. clothes on. collect snacks, an extra diaper, snot rag, book or toy he hasn’t seen in a while to keep him occupied in the stroller/bike/car ride. fill milk bottle. shoes and socks on. check the time. we’re late. jackets on. halfway down the stairs. forgot something. up the stairs. down the stairs again. grab keys off hook. out the door. small baby fit when he wants to push his push cart around the neighborhood. we can’t do that right now, Seb. later this afternoon, after your nap, we can push your push cart all up and down and around this neighborhood to your hearts delight. walk around the corner. can’t find car key. it’s not in my hand, not on the ground, not anywhere. attempt to get wherever we were going is gone. back in the house. bug baby daddy to help us look for the key. i swear something in this vein happens all. the. time. before Seb, i was what you could call hella type a. slowly, daily, having a baby is helping beat this out of me. some days i can totally laugh it off and relish the joy that is motherhood and the life juggle. other days, well, other days, especially if Sebe is just not feeling it either, it’s a lot more of an effort to keep from wanting to curl up in the fetal position on the floor that is most likely covered in spilled cheerios and every pot and pan we own (thanks Seb) and weep ever so slightly. but i still wouldn’t trade this new life for anything. serio. it just gets really real but holy shit i love this little human more than i thought capable of.

day progresses. rest of the morning is rich and full and happy. little snack. nap time. diaper change before nap time. baby daddy has stayed home to help with car key situation. AAA is called. we’re borrowing the car from my mom. she has to come over to sign for the whole picking of the lock and copying of the key. of course i lost our only copy. my ma lives a busy life, she has shit to do. AAA is late. they said they’re on their way. i apologize for the umpteenth time, tell her to help herself to whatever she can scrummage in the kitchen and drag Seb off to the bedroom. diaper comes off. key falls out. key. falls. out. Sebe giggles in his nap-needing delirium.


in navigating mom world, with all its ups and downs and loaded emotional scenarios, it is these moments that complete me. i lie on the floor next to my perfect, sleepy child and laugh uncontrollably. he picks up the key and puts it in his mouth. don’t worry, ┬áit’s only covered in pee.