dressing your baby in a fly fit, taking 1,000 pics before you leave the house for a doctor appointment, pre-unlocking your car with your keys before putting them in your pocket alongside your phone after locking the house door, diaper bag on your back but only by one strap for easy take-off, and waddling to the car like you’re doing farmer walks with a 35 lb dumbbell. Gracefully descending your baby into his car seat after giving him the ritual kiss on the forehead before you buckle him in, only to realize there’s a wet stain on his new outfit. On top of that, he just let out a symphony of flatulences. So you think:
"Damn, now I gotta go back inside and do it alllll over again. Bet."
So I reverse engineer everything I just did to realize that his diaper was actually clean and he hadn’t wee'd himself. It was actually milk stains from my right tit from when I was breastfeeding him with my left tit 10 minutes prior. Damn, son. The letdown tie-dye nursing bra look slays. And thank God I lifted up my shirt on both sides as I fed him, so the liquid gold only blessed one layer of clothing and didn’t reach the vintage Space Jam shirt I’m wearing today. A win is a win. I don’t have to change outfits… yet. I’m not psychic or anything, but I can predict that I’ll get spit up on at some point today, forget about it, smell something familiar and awful, then spend several minutes trying to figure out what the hell it is, only to discover it’s coming from my left shoulder blade and is now crusty. Aw, motherhood.
I joke and complain, but I do love it here. Rhythm is worth it all. Thank you, my sun.
Always,
Mama Ru XO
Comments