Adventures in Mothering*

*If I were Brandon, I would have just titled this “Adventures in Babysitting,” because whenever Brandon is in charge of the little guy, he insists on saying he’s “babysitting.” I try to impress upon him that he is, in fact, fathering, but it hasn’t taken yet.

Anyhow, in honor of Mother’s Day, here are some of my recent less-than-stellar moments in mothering (which include giving up and allowing Anthony to tackle/make out with the cat. And yes, these are only the recent less-than-stellar moments…)

…Tuesday, after a week of whining of epic proportions, I braced myself as I picked up the baby from daycare. We got home, and I put the baby in his crib, where he played happily as I ran on the treadmill. I took a shower as the baby continued to play. Hearing nothing but joyful babbling from the other room, I leisurely washed my face and got dressed. I took the baby downstairs, where he played with his toys, flashing me looks like this...

...and this...

...and this...

... as I took my time emptying the dishwasher and folding the laundry. As I fed him dinner, the baby smiled lovingly at me, pausing only to open his mouth in cooperation.

Then, I calmly walked over to my phone, called Brandon and confessed: I'd picked up the wrong baby! (This is actually a fear of mine. Sometimes I walk into that room, teeming with babies, and panic because I don’t immediately spot which one is mine and I have to look for where a teacher is hunched over a little person, an alarmed look on her face, gasping, “Be careful, baby!”)

Brandon hurried home, and, after a quiet dinner, confirmed that I had indeed brought home the wrong baby. And that somewhere in Miami, a mother and father were cursing my name.

…Dressing Anthony for school is a challenge of Herculean proportions that involves pinning his wriggling little body to the floor with one hand while trying to install new diaper, new shirt and new pants with the other hand, all in the four seconds before he decides to flip over and take off. Obviously, I can’t accomplish this, so usually the task is finished with him crawling away at breakneck speed while I try desperately to force his churning legs into his pants. The other day, it wasn’t until I was carrying him into the daycare that I realized that one of these toys...

…had somehow made its way into his onesie as I was trying to snap everything into place. I almost let him go to school like that! It looked like he had some weird growth on his belly, or that I’d tried to stuff a sock down his diaper in hopes of helping him impress the ladies.

...Over the past 11 months, I've developed a sort of chatter I slip into when it's just me and Anthony. This was hard at first, but all the experts sing the praises of talking to your baby as much as possible...you know, language development and all. Pretty soon it just came naturally. Maybe too naturally... the other day I took Anthony out for a walk, and looked down to see this...

"Look at those chubby thighs!" I exclaimed. "Chubby, chubby thighs!"

Cute, right?

Not so much to the woman walking her dog just ahead of me...I can't confirm that she overheard, but the look she shot me as I walked by indicates that she did, and that it wasn't entirely clear I was talking to Anthony.

...I use one of these...

...to help accommodate Anthony's two-a-night formula habit (yes, he needs a 12-step program, but it gets him, by which I mean me, back to sleep, so I say childhood obesity be damned!) It's handy -- you fill it up with the appropriate portion of formula, then shake it into the bottle of water when you're ready to go. I guess it was designed to be operated by someone who is, um, awake, because one morning when I grabbed the formula-holder to put it in the dishwasher, I noticed both slots were full...even though I knew I'd fed Anthony his requisite two bottles the night before (trust me, I keep track of such things. Some day, Anthony, some day.) No wonder the poor kid hadn't wanted to settle down, all he was getting was Miami's delightful tap water!

Anyway, those are just some of the recent lowlights as we draw ever closer to the day when Anthony (rightfully?) blames me for everything that is wrong in his life. Obviously, there's no need to feel guilty if you didn't send me a Mother's Day present.

Except you, Brandon. If you didn't get me a present, you should definitely feel guilty.

Anyway, Brandon and I both say Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, especially our own moms! We love you! And we issue a blanket apology for everything we did as children!