I had no idea it would happen to me. I was sure, going into
this whole “motherhood” thing, that I would be one of those moms who have it
all together. I’d be out on the town with my cute baby in tow in no time, prancing
from place to place, going on coffee dates and shopping and getting manicures,
all with my perfect baby by my side, sleeping like an angel and giggling at
everyone around us.
Oh, how very wrong I was (except for the perfect baby
part). After having my baby, I wanted nothing to do with the outside world. I
didn’t have time to bathe myself, let alone look halfway decent enough to even
think about leaving the house. Plus, I didn’t really want to leave. What if my baby had a blowout? What if he started
screaming (something his little lungs were very apt at, might I add) in public?
What if I started leaking through my shirt and everyone laughed at me?
These were the thoughts that went through a deranged new mom’s mind. These were the
thoughts that kept me from leaving my house. These were the thoughts that turned me into a hermit—at least for a little while.
I didn’t want to share my perfect little one with the big
bad world. I wanted to keep him, selfishly, all to myself, away from anything
scary or different or new. But more than that, I was scared. I was overwhelmed.
I could barely get myself up and ready to go before it was time to tend to my
baby’s needs. I was scared to feed him in public, scared that I wouldn’t know
what to do, scared to bring him places besides our own safe home.
But then it happened. I was forced to take my baby
somewhere. Mind you, it was the doctor’s office, but still. He was only 2 weeks old! Can we talk about how crazy it is that we are expected to bring our
baby someplace—and be on time—when they are only 2 weeks old?! Shouldn’t
pediatricians have, like, house calls for the first month? Wouldn’t that be a
dream! Anyway. What I’d like to know is how many
of us actually end up making that 2-week-old appointment, and on time, and with a happy
baby? We sure didn’t.
We had every good intention of making it, but then Murphy’s
Law came into effect, full force. You know, anything that can go wrong will go
If we were going to be judged for our tardiness, I sure as hell was going to make sure he looked cute.
He napped longer than expected. And I really didn’t want to
wake him up. NEVER wake a sleeping baby, right? But we had a doctor’s
appointment to get to. And we had never met the doctor before, so we didn’t
want to have a bad first impression—we didn’t know what they would think
of us, how they would judge us as not being fit to be this tiny creature’s
parents, because we were late. I shuddered to think of it.
So we woke him up from his slumber.
Mistake number one.
Then I fed him. And he kept eating and eating and eating
and I’m frantically checking the clock every few minutes, palms sweaty, already
knowing that we’re going to be late—to the doctor’s office that is literally five minutes from our house.
When he’s done eating, I dress him up in the cute outfit
that I had picked out for his first doctor visit. Because, if we were going to
be judged for our tardiness, I sure as hell was going to make sure he looked
cute. Being judged for his outfit was not something I would allow. So I put on
his adorable outfit of onesie/pants/sweater with the little baby moccasins and
beanie to match, and he’s all buttoned up with those damn snaps that I had to
re-do because the first time they didn’t match up (they do that on purpose, to
drive us crazy, I swear). OK, phew. Outfit done.
We get him strapped into his car seat, which is way too big
for him because we decided to forego the infant car seat and go straight to the
one that grows from infant to toddlerdom in hopes of saving money and space [side
note: do not forego the infant car seat] which is a whole other process in and
of itself. Those straps are too big. He’s drowning in the padding of the seat.
Push him up a little. No, down. Adjust the straps to his collarbone! Wait, now
it’s on his throat. Adjust the straps down a bit. Oh, great, now they’re at his
belly. After the car seat frustrations, we finally have him in there somewhat
safely (I think? But what do we really know) and then we hear it. That loud
chorus of rumblings and grumblings and a huge grin comes over his face.
And then we smell it.
Great. Just great. That was a massive blowout.
Time to undo the car seat straps and bring him back into the
house and finagle him out of his snapped up onesie and skinny, completely
frazzled while dropping the entire contents of the diaper bag onto the ground in
the process. We get him back onto his changing pad and see the damage. Poop is
literally everywhere. How it got up to his bellybutton, I have no idea, but
there it is.
Can we just use a hose?
Time to get him dressed again. I give up. He’s wearing the
zip-up footie pajamas that he slept in.