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This is (Sur)Real Life (Week 3)

This is (Sur)Real Life (Week 3)

parenting3.11.13-3.17.13

There’s light at the end of the I-can’t-tell-day-from-night tunnel. Her name is Grandma. For three solid days (right, days?) she made our humble abode clean enough that we could, like, slurp the best whey protein shakes everrrrr I’ve been making off the floor and lap water from the toilets. She also swayed and shushed and cooed you to sleep a few or hundred times while I napped a few feet away. Of course Gma is on my list of People Whom I’m Not Fake Smiling at When They Hold Little Man, As I Genuinely Trust Them, but I can’t really stand not being an arm’s length from you.

Midwife paid us a visit Wednesday (?) afternoon. You gained a pound in a week! Normally some ounces are normal, but a pound?! You eight-pound superstar boob attacker, you. Pretty soon here I’m going to sign you up for sumo wrestling because all small towns offer that, right?

Midwife also said, “A lot of babies cry, just cry; you’re very fortunate.” I held up The Happiest Baby on the Block, went on and on about swaddling, and elicited a knowing look and “Ahh, yes,” from her. “That book does a lot of parents well.”

Plus, I prayed and prayed that you inherit Daddy’s temperament. After all, there are, in fact, already two of me. Your aunt is the more rated G, socially appropriate, polite version with a fashion repertoire that extends beyond Nike sweatpants and too-big t-shirts, true this, but she and I do share DNA and a propensity to let unpretty words fly with a select finger when we’re driving on interstates. On the other end of personality types, if Daddy ever had his wallet stolen, the last thing he’d do is let four-letter words sail or flip somebody the bird. No, he’d give the shirt off his back, the socks off his feet, to the culprit and then tell them about Jesus Christ and everybody’s deserving eternal salvation and love.

Why did he marry me? Seriously?

Since Daddy went back at work this week, Gma stopped by the hippie haven on her way to our place in the sticks. I wish I could blame my obsession with organic ice cream on pregnancy cravings, but since I was your age—okay, maybe a wee bit older—I’ve been smearing mint chocolate chip frozen bliss across my face and into my hair. I’ve also had a passionate tryst with a fermented tea that relies on a mushroom, kombucha, for a small eternity, so Gma grabbed me some of the ones with chia seeds, which I love. However, now that I change over a dozen diapers a day, I can’t really let the little seedy things and gel-like tea sit in my mouth too long . . .

Other than having trekked to the doc’s for some baby wellness checkups, you haven’t been for many car rides. Gma and I decided, as two rebellious, can’t-contain-us women do, that it was time to go to retail heaven: Hobby Lobby. Mommy wanted to get some sports décor for your cousin, who is still comfortably cushioned in Zeke’s uterus. I carted you by colorful vases, yards of fabric, and the paint aisle that I purchased for the projects sitting in the garage.

Hobby Lobby passes the test one of my friends told me I’ll adopt in lieu of assessing the quality of the merchandise in a store: Is the place stroller-friendly and does it have a decent changing station? Painty fist-pound, Hobby Lobby!

Daddy’s work, where we went to surprise him with his offspring, fit the bill, too. I’ve seen Daddy plenty proud before. I’ve seen him solemn ski the first time he ever put on water skis. I’ve seen him graduate with honors, and I’ve seen him receive accolades he says he doesn’t deserve (but absolutely does) from people twice his age. I’ve seen him sleep straight through three college classes that weren’t even his. Pride has adorned his face many a time, but never the way it did when he was showing everyone you.

infant sleep

baby and dogs

boy baby

dad and boy

 

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