While Nathan and I were perusing the produce section at Safeway, an old lady passed us by and pointed at the darlingness that is my baby. I’m used to people stopping and “aww”ing at my son because frankly, he is damn cute. I beam with pride even though I didn’t have anything to do with how he turned out and what kept him from emerging from my womb looking like a California Raisin.
“Oh what a cute baby,” she raved. “How old is he?”
“Well,” her voice dropped. “Make sure you watch him.”
“Gee, thanks Grams because I was about to totally not watch him until you had mentioned it.”
“Why I never!”
“Yeah, I bet you’ve never been drop-kicked in the face before either, so shove it, lady.”
Then Nathan unbuckled himself from his infant carrier and did the “crane” move from Karate Kid, leaving the woman stunned in the aisle. That’s my boy!
Nathan has rejected his crib and co-sleeper. He prefers to sleep between my boobs. Because of this, I’ve renamed my breasts respectively, “Nathan’s Bar and Grill.”
I read once that the magician Houdini could use all of his muscles to undo locks and restraints, which is exactly what I think of when I’m breast-feeding and typing with one hand or pressing the remote control with my toes. I wish I could really be like Houdini, though. Then I’d have the power to make my post-partum ass disappear because, damn, wearing maternity pants is depressing.
Do you believe in magic?