Today I am on my own. Just me, the baby, the cat and the busted-up dog.
Oh, and the kitchen contractor guy, who is here to finally (FI. NAL. LY.) finish our goddamn kitchen.
I have no idea what I'm doing all of a sudden. Noah cries and I just stare at him like, "You're going to have to give me more information, because I have no idea what you want and the more you cry the more I can sense the judgement of the kitchen contractor guy because I CANNOT GET YOU TO SHUT UP."
THESE ARE ALL THE PARENTING TRICKS I KNOW HOW TO DO:
1) Pick him up.
2) Offer boob.
3) Offer other boob, because hooray! There are two!
4) Change diaper, get peed and/or pooped on, stay cool about it.
6) Walk in circles.
7) Walk in zig-zags.
8) Reason with child in a soothing, high-pitched voice.
9) Dump child in swing.
10) Shove pacifier in mouth.
Let's just say I spend a lot of time replacing the batteries in the swing and even more time reinserting the lost pacifier into his mouth. Rinse, repeat, life goes on.
I am proud of the fact that I managed to get a shower this morning, which I accomplished by dragging the bouncy seat into the bathroom and periodically sticking my foot out to give it a bounce or two. (Noah enjoys the bouncing, but not the battery-powered soothing vibrations, which makes me kind of hate the bouncy seat because WHAT IS THE POINT IF I AM STILL EXPECTED TO ATTEND TO HIS NEEDS? RAISE MY CHILD, FISHER PRICE AUTOMATION!)
When I stepped out of the shower, Noah greeted my naked self with a look that can only be described as wide-eyed horror. I don't blame him -- I make the same face when confronted with a full-length mirror these days -- and I'm actually hoping the sight will be enough to put him off girls for several decades.
AND ANOTHER THING NOAH WILL ONE DAY DISCUSS WITH HIS THERAPIST:
(The sleeper says "Give peas a chance." Get it? GEDDIT? And the hat is a little peapod thing? Because it is cute and we are lame? Anyone? Hello?)