#10 Before I gave birth I thought a lot about what giving birth would look like. I pictured it to be epically disgusting with lots of screaming, swearing, and hysterical crying. I was right.
I also figured that afterwards, I might need some XL granny panties to hold in the giant diapers worn for postpartum recovery. Also correct.
Conversation in Target with my sister on day of purchase:
Me: (holding up underwear) We can never tell anyone about this.
Kelly: You’re right.
Me: This is the most terrible thing I’ve ever bought.
Kelly: It’s pretty bad.
Me: If Austin sees me in these, he might never want to look in that direction again.
Kelly: I wouldn’t.
19 weeks later and I still own them. Why? Because I figure I might do all of that again someday (shutter). The problem is that at least once a month I run out of all “normal” underwear and have to slip these bad boys on out of desperation. Not ideal.
My confession? They are actually really comfortable. Mind-blowingly comfortable. Never want to wear another thong again comfortable.
Now I know why grannies are always so cheerful. They are wearing soft, nipple-high, cotton briefs that never give you a wedgie and always leave you covered. Mystery solved.
#11 So I gave my baby food even though he’s not really ready. It was somewhat out of boredom, but mostly I was hoping it would help him sleep through the night (it did not).
How it went:
Don’t worry, he eventually warmed up to it (and by that I mean he spit it all over my face and laughed). Maybe we’ll try again in a few weeks (years?) when he’s not being such a baby.
#12 Now that Baby Baer has turned into a bipolar teething monster, it takes some special maneuvering to calm him down.
On my own
Pretending he’s beside me
On my own
I want some dessert inside me
Dum Dum Dum
Please go to sleep, you’re crazy
And when I close my eyes, just close your eyes, please close your eyes
I want some sleep please
Downloading the soundtracks to Les Mis and Phantom of the Opera as we speak. It’s wrong what I’m doing to these songs, but I don’t really know what else to do. Teething = Mommy hell.