Daddy Daycare

Or, the ongoing chronicles of what-the-hell-will-I-do-with-my-BABY???

A few weeks ago I had a bad week. Which was followed by a bad weekend. A really rotten weekend, which included me melting down into a rage volcano, and spewing frustration lava all over my nearest and dearest, which nearly saw me transform into a single mother, which also ended up with one member of the family in GODDANG JAIL (not me). But one good thing came out of that rotten weekend:

Daddy Daycare opened for business. Yep. In a moment of clarity I realized: if Tim was not working, he can damn well watch the baby all day. And we made it so. And it was good.

Of course it is so, so different with the second baby. Baby G is much easier-going, but who can say whether her chillaxedness is just her nature, or perhaps because she is not living under the weight of the ANXIETY DEATHRAY I projected on her older sister: Is she breathing? Am I holding her right? Is she hungry? Did she have a poop? Was that a fart or is she choking to death? IS SHE BREATHING AAAH THE BABY IS GOING TO DIE IF I PUT HER DOWN OR LET ANYONE ELSE TAKE CARE OF HER.

Oh yea, I am 100% more relaxed: howdy, friendly-looking acquaintance, would you like to hold my baby? Give her back when she seems hungry. But for Tim, because I forced him into a primary caregiver role, it's like night and day. He is involved, he shows affection, he takes initiative. He has been having FUN with Baby G. I don't think he really had fun with Little A. until she could talk. I mean, he loved her, but you know, I am not sure he really enjoyed her babyhood. He even took the baby to work yesterday, to show her off to his new boss, and get her opinion on the new website he is building for the company!

Because of course as soon as we figured out this beautiful solution, did the man get a job. Yes he did. And while I am pleased for that, we are back at square zero. To add a dash of complexity to the whole stinking situation, Little A's daycare is not accepting infants, AND is under investigation by the Department of Health and Human Services! So we might have to find a new place for her too! I am not using exclamation points because I am happy about this! Seriously!!

!!!!!

Does anyone have an awesome spare nanny we could borrow? Maybe one who speaks Spanish? That would be awesome. Or maybe someone would like to go to work for me so I can hang with my adorable little baby, who smells like fresh-mown-hay, and laughs and coos and is so amazing and I want to be with her all the time but boohooo sniffle I have to go to wooooork boooo.

Having babies is awesome, until you have no earthly idea what to do with them for 8 hours of the day. SIGH.

Con muchos besos,
A

The Fresh-person 15

A couple of weeks ago my sister-in-law invited me to her birthday happy hour. It was the first time I had been out, since Baby G's birth, without baby and diaper bag and stroller and etc etc. Super exciting. I put on my super-low rise fancy jeans (those I could zip, because of said low-rise) and a huge sweater my dear friend (and new mama!) S. gave me. And earrings! And make-up! It was certainly too much effort for a small post-work happy hour at a cruddy sports bar. But damned if it didn't feel good to put some effort into my appearance. Every once in a while you just need to decide what to wear because it looks nice, rather than just choosing based upon whether or not the crusty spot will be REALLY noticeable, or just kindof noticeable.

I felt like an imposter, pretending to be a normal person out amongst other normal people who were just getting out of their normal office jobs. But half a beer and some small talk later I remembered a bit of myself that knew how to do more than negotiate toddler demands and do a one-handed diaper change. I didn't even show anyone any pictures of the baby! And I may have innocently flirted just a tad with a tall, boyishly good-looking Irish friend-of-a-friend. He showed me pictures of his dog. All normal...ish.

****

It was a work-from-home snowday, so no one other than my children and the dog witnessed last week's small triumph: I zipped up my most favorite pre-pregnancy jeans. My old standbys. I wouldn't lift the hem of my sweater at you, lest you shrink away from the computer (Gah! Muffin top of HORROR!!), but damned if it didn't feel good to zip these up this morning. And, no, this is not sponsored by Levi's. Just some old Gap jeans from Goodwill. I would like to thank ZUMBA!, yogadownload.com, and pomegranate-blueberry frozen yogurt.

****

15 lbs left to go before I get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Who knows how long, if ever, it will take to get back to my pre-pregnancy BRAIN.

(Probably never)

con muchos besos,
A