Holy crap! I am so out of shape when it comes to babies! When you are in the zone of caring for infants, you develop a rhythm. Sleeping in three hour starts and fits becomes the thing you do. Your sleep-deprived brain adapts and thinks it’s totally normal to watch reality television in the middle of the night. I have muscle memory when it comes to babies, but it takes a few sessions to regain. It has been ten years since birthing the twins, after all. You can’t just leave babies in the back yard with a bowl of food anymore. There are like standards and shit.
Nine month pregnant friend Darby called at 3:03 a.m. last night. Damn babies always double screw you over by knocking on your cervix door in the middle of the night. Ready or not, here I come! More like Bride of Chucky. Although when babies are born they all look like old men to me. Wrinkly, surly, demanding old men. The kind that walk around naked in the gym blow drying their nuts daring you to look or say something. FEED ME. I WANT SOME CHEETOS. Then the small old coots sleep on your shoulder, their sweet scalp like hyacinth, intoxicating. Baby love. But I digress.
I’m actually substitute parenting for Darby’s 18 month old while she tends to the birthing of her next person. I think I got the good end of that stick. Still, there is that whole “vacation” aspect of going to the hospital to have a baby politicians without vaginas talk about. An enema to guard against shitting yourself later is so similar to a Rosemary Mint Awakening Body Wrap. Who needs a Chakra Balancing Massage when you can pay $4000 for an Epidural so you don’t feel parts of your body being ripped out? Good end of the stick indeed. And in the meantime I get some 18 month old baby love!
Baby Jett and I didn’t start out so well when he woke up at 5:45 a.m. expecting his doting mother and getting me instead. GOOD MORNING, BABY! I tried to reason with him that it was too early to be awake, but he was having none of my “let’s just hang out in my bed for a while until I can open my eyes and withstand my own breath” plan. Stop wiggling or you’ll never get a fresh diaper to immediately pee into. And he is cheerful in the morning.
Wiping tiny genitals first thing in the a.m. isn’t as fun as it sounds, baby.
Stop grinning at me. I closed his bedroom door and we hung out on his carpet. Baby Jett played with all his pacifiers and I pretended to be awake. I lost my cell phone three times.
The baby part of parenting was easier than figuring out how their 100+ year old house worked. I would only have been an hour late dropping him at daycare if I could have figured out how to open their garage door without calling reinforcements. Some of their overhead lights may be on for days because I can’t find the fucking light switches. Granted it was 4:00 a.m. when I was searching, but it shouldn’t be that hard. And why is all baby gear so un-intuitive? Buckling babies in another parent’s car seats is like attaching a parachute without instructions. No pressure there to get it right.
I’m more than a little paranoid about forgetting my temporary baby in the car because I’m not used to having a baby in my car. A friend said not to worry as long as I didn’t leave a google search trail about leaving babies in cars. I know that was a bad joke. OMG! Lighten up! I’m kidding! I would never leave a google search trail about leaving babies in cars. That’s just stupid.