Birth stories for women are like fishing stories for men.
Get together with a woman of child-bearing age, and before you know her last name, you’ll know she pushed for 72 hours and birthed an 11-pound baby.
We wanted Colt to feel invested in the process of preparing for our new baby, so we brought him with us to register for a few necessary items.
We didn’t expect him to hijack the scanner for the entirety of the process, but I should have guessed.
A “gun” that shoots a “laser beam?”
And anything you scan magically arrives at your house via UPS, and you don’t have to pay for it?
Pregnancy makes you want some weird sh$t real bad.
It started with lemonade.
But that was just a gateway craving.
Then I experimented for a while with straight lemon extract. (There’s an extensive collection of empty plastic fruit under my kitchen sink.)
Now I’m eating WHOLE lemons – everything but the peel. Sometimes more than one a day.
I’ve tried to keep my addiction a secret,
Colt is fascinated by the fact that I don’t stand up to pee.
Those of you who don’t have kids are probably thinking, “EW. Why are you letting your son watch you go to the bathroom?”
First of all, to potty train your child, you have to SHOW him how to do it, so there’s that…
But even when the training is over, I can’t just lock myself in the bathroom and let my kid run free?!!!!
My husband Todd is a stay-at-home dad for the next five weeks until school starts again for him in the fall.
In his time off, he’s been coaching Colt.
Fine tuning important life skills like fist-pounding, vacuum-wand-sword fighting and nose-picking “cheese boogies.”
Every night, I come home from work to de-program Colt from everything he’s learned that day.
But a few nights ago, when I was tucking Colt into bed,
If you’ve had a baby, you know that baby shoes are totally impractical.
Babies kick them off, fuss when you try to wrestle them back on and outgrow them too quickly.
They are a total pain in the ass.
But they are soooooooooo cute.
So when I found a plaque that read: “Cinderella is proof that shoes can change your life.”
Ugh, I died.
It’s 2-o-clock in the morning.
I “went to bed” at 10:30, but I’ve already gotten up twice to pee. And once to check that the oven is off. And once to make sure the front door is locked.
I’ve jussssssst started really sleeping…like rapid eye movement sleeping…like dreaming about Channing Tatum’s nether-regions sleeping…
When I hear it.
The blood-curdling scream of my toddler from the other room.
When I had Colt, my nose evolved into a super pooper sniffer.
A finely tuned machine capable of distinguishing between BMs of all kinds. Healthy. Solid. Runny. Viral.
Like a German Shepard to a bag of coke.
My mom has the same skill, as did her mother before her, and her mother before her.
We come from a long line of Poop Snoops.
Why is it that I always have to pee more often when I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit?
Probably because it’s sucking in my fat so forcefully that my bladder cannot store even one 12 oz. poolside beverage for any length of time.
I know everyone else is just peeing in the water.
That dad in the Deep End, with the red solo cup, has been sitting in his inner tube for 3 hours.