Max is nine months old. Nine months. And in nine months, I've come to the realization that all parents must come to--that nothing...nothing...works out that way that you plan for it to. Now, I didn't say that nothing works out, I just said that nothing works out the way it was PLANNED to. On the days when I'm not working and I'm in charge of Max, I have my fantasy "being with baby" day all laid out in my mind. We'll go for a walk, take a nap, have some lunch at a small quaint local restaurant, go to the park, take another nap, play, read, and in general, we'll be so cute it'll seem like we should be on the cover of Parents Magazine.
Instead, it goes something like this.
I run around our house frantically trying to get Max ready for the day as he crawls all over everything he's not supposed to, attempts to jam his fingers into every light socket, suck on every wire, climb on every metal railing and poke his eyes out on every sharp corner. Once I've changed his diaper while he's standing (an artform, I assure you), I manage to put a bra on and brush my teeth. What I'm wearing is meaningless. We then head to our local taco place because it's, of course, too late for me to head home and feed him and he likes rice and guacamole...has he ever had guacamole? Well, he will today.
Oh..another thing...on the way to this taco place, I lamented (out loud to my sister in law who was driving) that I didn't bring any Boogie Wipes with me (if you're a mom reading this and you don't have boogie wipes, buy them NOW) and I was bummed because he was starting to get such a crusty nose that I was beginning to be "that mom with the baby who always has a crusty nose." That mom you want to stay away from.
Uh huh.
So anyway, we get to the taco place and I sit Max down and get really overzealous with his food options. He tries queso fresco, guac, a little bit of chicken, some rice and just as I'm marveling at what a fantastic eater I have, he projectile vomits all over the table and himself.
Boogie wipes? No, I need a shop vac.
My sister in law and I grab Max, rip off his clothes, I literally have to take him outside and shake the rest of the vomit remnants off of him. We pack up, leaving a very unhappy taco place staff to sweep up rice and a whole bunch of other things Max managed to toss on the floor, and head out to do the rest of our errands with a half naked baby. Of course, prepared mommy that I am, I have a change of clothes for Max but I figure there's no point in putting new clothes on him because he's just going to keep getting disgusting and guess what? I'm now the crusty baby mommy. Crust baby mommies have known something all along, they've figured out how to de-stress themselves by not worrying about having a perfectly clean baby. It's genius.
Jenna and I head to Borders where I then have the privilege of running into someone I know. Now, in normal world (i.e. I don't have my dirty baby who's just vomited all over himself with me world and/or I'm not wearing a t-shirt with three stains on it world and/or I brushed my hair in the last two days world), running into someone I know would be no problem, even pleasurable. In this case, not so much.
Not only am I now crusty baby mommy, I'm "let your kid play with anything disgustingly dirty just so he'll be happy and occupied mommy."
In the midst of my conversation with the person I've run into, I become so fed up with my child's incessant squirming that I place him on the floor of Borders (a Borders, mind you, that is going out of business so I'm pretty sure it hasn't been cleaned in the past three months) and let him crawl around, touch things, chew on random books for sale. I let him. And I don't give a shit.
And I'm sure she was thinking "wow, that is one crusty ass baby, and one crusty ass baby mommy." That's what I would have thought a year ago. Now, I just think..."guess her day didn't turn out as planned. Welcome to motherhood."
Dear Crusty Mom:
You are an inspiration to all crusty mothers everywhere. But a really hip mommy would stop at Neiman Marcus and buy her kid and herself something amazingly expensive and stupid to wear. For Max ,those charming Baby Burberry loungers that will make him look like a Tom Thumb golfer from hell. And for crusty mom a chic little Burka from Comme des Garcons. Then she would ask a salesperson to drop everything, hold her baby, and duck into the dressing room where she would strip herself and the kid of their nasty duds. Isn't LA all about image? You are the funniest thing ever. Also, are crawfish kosher?
xox
Carolyn
Posted by: Carolyn White | May 02, 2011 at 12:18 PM