Today in the Mommyhood: Day 176

Today, I aced Mom-301. I changed Dane’s giant boomie diaper on the closed toilet seat of an airplane at 37,000 feet. Talk about your mile high club (I know: yuck, yuck, yuck, boo, hiss.).

But still:

Mommyhood 0 – Mommy Su Su 1

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By Way of Introduction…

To introduce our sweet baby Dane, here’s a transcript of his commentary during last Tuesday’s bedtime ( if he could, you know, comment). Dane is almost six months old, teething, and completely distracted by anything shiny. Or really, anything.

6:15 p.m.: Nice tubby, Mommy. Just the thing to follow that tasty cereal. Now Daddy, I’m aiming for Defcon Three during diaper and jammie time. The faster you get to the tossing me in the air phase of the evening, the quicker I’ll shut it down.


6:16 p.m.: No, no, don’t listen to her. That’s the best part! Here, I’ll get started. Then you can’t hear her.

6:25 p.m.: DEFCON THREE. DEFCON THREE! DEF – Yay! Higher! Higher!

6:26 p.m.: Spoilsport.

6:27 p.m.: DEFCON TH – ooooh: a wipe.


6:28 p.m.: Good night, Daddy, we love you! Sure, Mommy, my favorite side, I’ll have a snack. Why not?

6:33 p.m.: MMMMM, this is GOOOOOD. It’s like butter. It’s like cream. It’s like buttercream. It’s like –

6:34 p.m.: (Wildly craning head back) Oh God. Oh God. GET ME UP. GET ME UP NOW. GET ME UP NOW!

6:35 p.m.: Shoo, that’s better. Sorry about your pants, Mommy. I’m sure they’ll wash. What, you want me to try the other one? Well, that’s not really my favorite side, but hey, for you? I’ll give it a go.

6:36 p.m.: (Craning head back) Eh, whatever.

6:37 p.m.: (Craning head back again) Yeesh, Mommy, pushy. Oh, FINE.

6:38 p.m.: (Craning head back yet again) Is it hot in here? It’s a sauna. It’s Houston in July. It’s the fire of a thousand suns. It’s – HOT. HOT. HOT! HOT! HOT!

6:39 p.m.: Good idea, Mommy. Those cotton jammies will be much more comfortable than my fleecies.

6:40 p.m.: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE TO PUT ME DOWN TO CHANGE THESE? DOST THOU TOUCH THY JAMMIES? YOU WILL RUE THE DAY! RUE. THE –

6:42 p.m.: Oh, wait. These ARE better.

6:45 p.m.: What, more milky? No thanks, Mommy. What if I just smile instead? See how cute I am? Really? Cute? See me? See – oooooh: a lampshade. A pillow! Venetian blinds! What? Milky? What? What are we doing here? HOW DID I GET HERE?

6:50 p.m.: Hi, Daddy! Yeah, I don’t know why she brought me down here either, but I’m happy to see you!

6:55 p.m.: Yay! Higher! Higher! Yay –


6:56 p.m.: Spoilsport.

6:58 p.m.: Where to now, Mommy? The mall? The park? My room? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MY ROOM? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR – oooooh: a doorknob.

7 p.m.: (Craning neck back yet again) Did I not make myself clear? I DO NOT want that nipple? Are you listening to me AT ALL? Sure, Mommy, a little quiet time on the boppy sounds fine.

7:03 p.m.: (Reclining on boppy, kicking feet against Mommy’s abdomen, ribs and solar plexus) Mommy, I’m so glad your tummy is so squishy. It really cushions my feet. My toes don’t even feel – MY TOES! I CAN’T SEE MY TOES! WHERE ARE MY TOES?

7:04 p.m.: Oh, in THERE. Thanks, Mommy. But could you zip that up? It’s a little drafty. (Giant yawn)  You know, I could sure use some milky right about now. Milky? Milky! MILKY! MILKY! MILK – ooooh: a bra strap.

7:05 p.m.: What? Oh yeah, the milky. Well… sure, if you insist.

7:25 p.m. (Giant burp) Aaaaaahhhhhhh.

7:45 p.m.: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.


1:22 a.m.: Um, Mommy? Mommy? MOMMY? MOOOOOMMMMMYYYYYY!!!!

Once, When I was Aunt Su-Su

Once, I was Aunt Su-Su.

I wore heels and leather and snakeskin. I blew my hair out and had my toes done. I drove a sports (okay, sporty) car. I ate dinner in restaurants. I traveled with my husband. I was hungover. Often.

Now, I’m Mommy.

My favorite outfit is a shirt that unbuttons below my nursing bra, pants with a drawstring, athletic socks and a plastic necklace my child can chew. I haven’t showered without another human being in the room in five months. The cargo space of my vehicle fits an oversized stroller, a value pack of diapers, a value pack of wipes, ten bags of groceries plus two pallets from Costco, two boxes for Goodwill, a sterilite tub from Target and still has room for a hippopotamus (I have solid packing skills, but still). My idea of dinner is Pei Wei on the living room floor. The farthest I’ve ventured with my little bundle of baby is two hours across the state, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation, terrified he would wake up. And I can still get a hangover… only, now it’s off one beer.

ONE.

Glory glory hallelujah, the baby life begins.