Before Nathan was born, I handwashed all of his clothing in baby detergent. I had heard horror stories about flame retardant and had to prevent MAH BABAY from burning. I saved all the newborn tags and stored them in a box, where they will continue to be a fire hazard until I get a scrapbook together. (HA! also read: double HA!) Nathan’s lucky to have anything separated from the “dirty” and “really dirty” piles I chuck into the HE washer.
When I had to buy formula for the first time, I looked at the 12 dollar Target can and the 30 dollar Enfamil can and inner-monologued this regrettable line, “I may be cheap, but I am not cheap with my son.” Oh Mona. You were so young, grasshopper, especially since your pockets were still lined with baby-shower gift cards. Also, you might have had traces of epidural still juicing your bloodstream because, lady, the Target brand has the exact same ingredients as Enfamil and costs half the price.
Maybe it’s the first child syndrome that has spurred the chronic fear that I am just not doing it correctly and unlike Miss Teen South Carolina, I won’t get to redo these past 15-months of mistakes on the Today Show. And I am speaking as a mother who still gives her child a bottle, dresses him as Juan Mayer, and exposes him to the addictive horror that is Teletubby Land.
Last night, I fed Nathan some of my popcorn and instead of normally breaking it off into non-chokable pieces, I gave it to him whole. And you know what? He didn’t choke. And he signed “more” which isn’t so much of a sign as it is a high-pitched squawk that translates as “INTO MY MOUTH NOW GOOD WOMAN!”
Why can’t we just congratulate ourselves more on making this far? And what about my hideous body, marred by pregnancy and breastfeeding and all this sitting down time? No cookie for that?
But the biggest question is: Does Nathan look like a girl in this outfit? (And tangentially, why do adults need to wear unitards? Who needs to tuck in their shirt that tightly?) Mike contests that I have feminized our son and if so, whatever! I’m so tired of blue outfits saying “I love Daddy” and pink outfits saying “I love Mommy” when really there should be some gender neutral ensembles embroidered with, “I love both my parents equally but really more so my mother because last night I cried so loud she could not understand what was happening on Last Comic Standing.”