Being a baby sucks...

I realized today, after a loud noise echoed through the living room, followed by a high pitched scream, that being a baby really sucks. My haphazard ginger flung himself head first into our non kid friendly, badass wooden coffee table.  Of course, my eyes watered since he was clearly dying of a head injury as I picked him up from the floor, a sobbing mess. Meanwhile he's getting four (yes, FOUR) molars at one time.  I am seriously tempted to give us both some whiskey. Thirteen months old and already the world is against this guy (his view not mine!) 

It's a wonder most kids survive all these disasters of head trauma due to angry pointy table corners, eating various plants, and allowing any animal to lick inside their mouth.  It's a daily occurance to find Atticus french kissing Fray as they share Cheerios... Or stopping his stroller too close to a bush and then finding random berries in his mouth... Oh, and googling signs of a concussion when he whacks his head on the concrete because you're chatting with the neighbor and your son is crab walking and therefore lands directly on his head. And you look like mother of the year when you don't react. If you ignore them first they usually cry less (hmm, still waiting for the scientific data on that one).  Until then, please keep informing me on gossip in the neighborhood while I plot setting you up with my mom. (Motherhood is making me a brilliant multi-tasker)

So back to baby's sucking... I mean, why it sucks to be a baby... Atticus had a slew of shots on Friday, most of which I can't pronounce, but I'm not paranoid enough not to give them to him. So Jen and I manhandle our Hercules son as they announce that they will sting him a little. Really, I thought for sure they'd tickle. He hates to be held down like I hate to run, fold laundry, or be held down. He screams before the shot just because he's trapped by two moms and a nurse. Our poor babies!! We protect and take care of them and half if it is utter torture. 


Changing diapers and clothing is also the end of the world. It's like I'm peeling his actual skin off his body... Every time. Although, he still helps put his arm through the correct holes. But diapers... Oh diapers, those are his kryptonite. As soon as those flaps peel off, his ass is off the ground and twisting like a pissed off cobra. The air hits his junk and he is a free man! All the while paying no mind to the smelly shit he's flinging on me, the dogs who are RIGHT there, and the nice carpet. But it sure must suck to be him. As good moms we are bribing him with a toothbrush, butt paste tube, paci, socks, non edible-edible wet wipes, or a bottle, all while making creepy animals noises to distract him. 

My point is, in this thirteen months of existence our poor boy is having a rough go of it. And by rough go of it I mean he's an average, normal, clumsy, short-tempered, accident prone baby. 
Don't get me started on walking! It must be too much for him!! He's a part timer.

Much love to all until next time.  (When I'm not sleeping, eating, cleaning a butt, chasing a ginger, working, studying, glaring at my spouse, feeding a ginger, googling head injuries, trying to shower, petting a neglected weenie (dog), exercising for sanity, cooking, cleaning, or eating)...

xoxo