Six Months

Noah is officially six months old now.

I planned to finally give in to the letters-to-baby thing and write a moving and bittersweet letter that I could press into his baby book -- a letter that would encapsulate every emotion and experience and life lesson I want him to learn and oh, how brilliant it would be.

I got this far:

Dear Noah,

Hi. How are you? I am fine.

Okay, bye!

Love,
Mama

So then I planned to write the letter after he went to bed -- a letter that would certainly include his cozy little bedtime routine, which involves him rubbing his eyes and sighing at precisely 8:15 pm which we take as a signal to read Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? Or even just recite it, because he no longer cares about the pictures but just waits with bated breath for us to announce the next animal (I see a...wait for it...RED BIRD looking at me!) before dissolving into giggles. Then we kiss him and say nite-nite and put him in his crib awake by 8:30. And then he...falls asleep, just like a completely rational human being.

I definitely wanted to write about that. But last night, about halfway through the parade of hallucinogenic-colored animals, I felt my lap growing strangely warm.

Purple cat, purple cat, what do you see? I see green poop leaking on me.

A bonafide ERUPTION of liquid was oozing out of his diaper, all over my legs.

Also all over the couch.

And Jason was working late, so I sat there paralyzed. What to do first? How to get the baby into the tub without leaving a trail of poop across the apartment? How to clean up the couch before the dog discovered the delicious fecal goodness? HOW TO GET THESE JEANS OFF OH MY GOD.

I finally got up and dashed into the nursery, blocking the diaper exit routes with my own torso, and put Noah on his changing table, reasoning that I'd get things under control with some wipes before giving him a bath which shows that six months does not a smart parent make, because have you ever like, dropped a full carton of milk and it went everywhere and then you didn't have any paper towels handy and had to use tissues? (No? Just me?)

So I belted him to the changing table and dashed across the hall to get a bath ready: towel water soap tubseat where's the damn tubseat oh damn it's in the kitchen better go get it; and when I returned to get Noah I found him dangling precariously off the changing table, waiting for one more solid kick of the legs to pitch him ass-over-teakettle into the Diaper Genie.

The poop had taken over and was firmly in charge.

He took one look at me and started laughing hysterically -- the deranged laughter of someone who is up past his bedtime and has just fingerpainted with his own waste all over the wall.

While I was hosing both of us down and yelling at Ceiba to STAY OFF THE COUCH OH GOD YOU ARE SO GROSS, the phone rang and I told it to go fuck itself.

Needless to say, I decided last night was probably not the best time to euphorically document the six-month milestone. Noah and I fell asleep on the non-poop-part of the couch immediately after the bath and I awoke some hours later to find Jason home and sitting next to me on the poop-part of the couch, like so glad we have a vicious watchdog to keep me safe, and when I mumbled something about him sitting on poop he informed me that I was drooling all over my son's head. I told him it was only fair at this point.

This morning, at daycare, some expectant parents were touring the center and observing Noah's classroom. And without even being aware of it, I switched into Happy Joyful Working Mother Mode in order to impress them with how awesome the whole set-up was. Look at Noah smile and reach for his teacher! Watch us happily chat and go about our morning business so completely natural-like! Look at me hide a bottle of diluted prune juice in the back of the fridge and write instructions for it on his chart without telling the teacher that dude, you are SO FUCKING IN FOR IT TODAY.

Noah sat on the floor, smiling beautifically in his little Chick Magnet onesie, and just as the parents commented on his adorableness, he puked.

"Okay, bye!" I said.

So I thought maybe I'd write the letter over lunch today. Maybe it wouldn't be so gushing because of the whole poop story, but I'm sure I could figure something out. I reached for my just-brewed cup of coffee and then something happened and I spilled it all over my desk and lap.

Green frog, green frog, what do you see? I see Amy breaking psychotically.

The coffee soaked through my clothes and burned my legs and I desperately grabbed tissues (tissues!) in order to SAVE MY COMPUTER, I AM NOT BREAKING TWO COMPUTERS IN ONE MONTH OH HELL NO and thought, you know? Fridays are not so much for me anymore.

Dear Noah,

Being your mother is better than the sum of its parts. I don't really get how the math works, but every moment I spend with you is the best moment of my life.

There is nothing you can do that would make me love you any less. There is nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy. There is nothing I would change.

Thank you for all the joy you've brought us. Thank you for these six amazing months.

Love,
Mama

P.S. I smell like coffee.