In the last 24 hours, I have traversed some of the most common highs (having my little one squeal in delight as we danced to Enrique Inglesias) and lows (helplessly holding him while he cried between dry heaves) of new motherhood. [Gramma, don’t worry about the dry heaves, he bounced back and is fine!]
But, the highs and the lows are what you prepare for when you decide you want a kid. What you can’t and don’t prepare for are the hilarious, tedious middle points. Like today, for example. Fresh from the shower, wearing a soft, un-glamorous robe, I grabbed mini-Idgie from his jumperoo. He stunk. So, we went to the changing table and got down to business. But,since he was wound up from playing in his jumperoo, he had no intention of laying still while I changed his diaper. He rolled as I got his pants off. I flipped him over and occupied him with a tube of diaper rash ointment while I undid his diaper. Yep, this was a messy one. I reached over to get wipes as he tossed the ointment to the floor and rolled back over to his stomach. With one hand on his back, I reached for the wipe bin. Empty. His dirty butt was in the air as he tried to crawl over the edge of the changing table. I managed to grab his ankles with one hand and wrap my other arm around his chest, trying to keep his poop-covered butt away from me as he writhed like a python. We walked across the room like this to get to the closet where the wipes stash is stored. I stood there for a moment, dirty, stinky, wiggly child in tow, trying to figure out how to open the door and grab wipes with both my hands occupied. With some combination of elbows, feet, and teeth, I was able to retrieve the wipes and finish the job. Granted, I did need a wipe or two for myself. After I had gotten myself dressed and fed the kiddo, we were dancing around to the above mentioned Enrique when I noticed a strange smear on my leg. Was it poo or breakfast? I do not know, gentle reader. But with one swipe of a wipe, the smear was gone and we were hitting our high for the day.
We are --
We work hard; we play hard too.
And we drive our husbands crazy --
We can't all be trophy wives.