First, I wish someone had alerted me to this Mother's Day business earlier. It's like a whole other birthday! Or Christmas, without having to buy anything for somebody else, which is such a drag.
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.
Jason said Noah tried to lick this one in the store, so he guessed that meant he liked it.
He has lovely penmanship for a seven-and-a-half-month old.
And looks aside, I can now prove that he is indeed my child by the red ink on his nose.
I've been there, baby. At least no one was trying to wipe it off with their own spit.
(This time, anyway. Mama was too busy eating donuts to clean you properly.)
The rest of my first Mother's Day weekend was chock full of examples of Really Fine Parenting, like the following:
1. I changed a very very VERY poopy diaper in the Smallest Restaurant Bathroom Ever, like it was seriously four square feet wide and I whacked Noah's head on the sink. Twice.
2. I spilled a hot latte on him in the middle of a crowded Starbucks.
Oh yes, I did.
This would probably be vaguely forgiveable if it had just been a result of me being a stupid dumbass klutz, but it happened while I was 1) shopping for Mother's Day gifts for MYSELF, 2) trying to condense my multiple purchases (for MYSELF) into one oversized Barney's bag, 2) too busy trying to convince Jason that pink Manolo Blahniks are not only a necessity, they are an INVESTMENT, to notice that I'd knocked my coffee off the table and onto Noah's lap, and 3) vaguely aware that after Incident #1, we were out shopping with no change of clothes for the baby, who was a) sleeping, b) not at all pleased by the sensation of a hot overpriced beverage all over his thighs, despite earlier repeated attempts to dunk them in a cappuccino and eat them like biscotti.
3. Finally, I realized that I should listen to people when they try to warn me about things. Like lowering the crib mattress, which I TOTALLY INTENDED TO DO, eventually, but I couldn't find the screwdriver and then I found the screwdriver, only to discover that I actually needed a hex key, but honestly, whatever, it's not like he can sit up in bed or pull himself to a stand yet, that's like, a good two months away from happening, right?
I am kind of the worst mother in the entire world, I think.