I'm probaby doing it all wrong...

 

There are some unwritten rules about parenthood.  And I’m probably breaking most of them.

 

 Charlotte loves raw cookie dough.  Oatmeal raisin is her favorite.

 

 

 We have one of those Bumbo chairs. The ones that got recalled because people put them on counters and tables and when their babies rocked back and forth they fell off.  We’re going to keep ours.  And we’re going to use it.  Along with some common sense.

 

 

 

She drinks goat's milk so she always smells like a dirty, French farmer.

 

 

 

 

And she naps on her tummy.

 

 

 

All.

 

 

 

The.

 

 

 

Time.

 

 

 

 

She also listens to the Irish Rovers and has watched COPS with me almost every day since she was born. 

 

 

 

But we’re having fun.  And after our traumatic beginnings, we’re finally starting to bond.

 

 And for now that’s enough to make me feel like I’m doing a friggin’ fantastic job.

 

 So we’ll take our chances thank you very much.  Cause we’ve already beat some much narrower odds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

"Don't pimp out my baby on Facebook."

 

 That's what I told my sister when I was pregnant.  "If people want to see Charlotte they can either come over or they can call me and I'll email them pictures."  How foolish I was.

 

No one calls me anymore.  In fact, whenever my phone rings these days it gives me a start, because who on earth could it be, and what on earth could they want?

 

I’m old-school.  I don’t know how to play video games.  I can barely use the Blu-ray player.  My phone doesn’t have a data plan.  I’ve been a Facebook holdout for as long as Facebook has been around, preferring old fashioned flesh and blood interaction over social media and cyber communication.  It’s great to stand by your principles, but what that means for me is that I’m sitting here in the house all week completely cut off from the outside world and am clueless as to what’s going on with all my friends and family.  Because they’re all on Facebook.  And I’m not. 

A couple weeks ago, feeling quite the social outcast,  I finally joined the Dark Side and it’s been a revelation.  People still know who I am!  Now not only is Janet pimping out Charlotte on Facebook, but I’m doing it too.  How quickly we turn…

Fast forward to yesterday.  I had a few errands to run and I took Charlotte with me because no one else was home and well, you can’t just leave your baby at home while you run errands.  I know some people do it, like the guy in Florida last month who left his 10-month old baby at home with the family pit bull while he went to the pub. 

So I went through the whole riggamarole of bundling up Charlotte, putting her in the car, all the while gritting my teeth through another flare-up of sciatica (another by-product of pregnancy) and headed to Whole Foods for some nice steaks for our dinner. 

Now, I don’t usually garner much attention while out shopping.  I’m probably in sweats, hair in a ponytail and no makeup to speak of.  Just barely presentable.  But take even the most non-descript woman and plunk a little baby in her arms and you can watch the magic unfold. 

While at the meat counter, I noticed that grass-fed, local ground beef was on sale so I asked for 2 pounds, wrapped separately.  The butcher commented that Charlotte was so cute and was being so good.  “She looks like she’s starting to get sleepy,” he remarked.  “Yes,” I replied.  “It’s almost her nap time.”  He handed me my two packages of ground beef but before I could walk away he said, “Wait a sec.  I think I labeled one of those wrong.”  Sure enough, one of them priced at $9.99/lb instead of the sale price.  He took it from me and wrote something on it with his Sharpie and I said thank you and walked away, thinking he had just manually corrected the price.  When I got up to the cashier, I noticed that it was marked No Charge.  He could have taken the time to print a new label, but who makes a sleepy baby wait? 

 

Stop number 2 – Mile High Liquors to pick up a nice bottle of wine to go with our dinner.  The owner stopped me on my way in to admire Charlotte, ask how she was doing, if I was having fun being a mom, etc.  He suggested a nice bottle, rang up our purchases and sent us on our way.  When I finally had everything settled in the car I looked at the receipt.  10% off.  Right friggin’ on.  Thank you Charlotte.

Lesson learned.  There is nothing wrong with pimping out your baby if it means discounts on groceries and liquor.  And renewed contact with the outside world.  I now intend to take Charlotte with me everywhere I go, regardless of who is home.  Cause I love me a good bargain.  And naps are so overrated.

 

 



 

This is me.  This is my baby.  And this is my blog.  Never thought I'd be doing this, but since she's here and all and I have some time on my hands...

 

 

 

She's a pretty good baby.  And I have it pretty easy as far as infants go.  But let's face it.  This is tough.  I'm 39 years old.  I've been doing my own thing for a long time now. 

 

Enter Charlotte.  And she's not gonna cramp my style.

 

I know a couple moms who have blogs.  It's all pictures of apple-cheeked, perfect Aryan specimens, all gathered around a perfectly made-up and impossibly slim woman who looks like she just slept 10 hours on a bed of baby rabbits.  And the text reads something like, "Today we made blueberry muffins - so fun!"  And the comments read like, "Oh, you're such a good mom!  The kids look so happy and you've obviously got it all together!"

 

Not so much around here.  Case in point, the picture above.  Charlotte cries and I smile.  Sometimes that's just the way it is. 

 

This blog will chronicle, with honesty that is sometimes stark and raw and send all my childless friends heading for the hills, the real goods about what goes on around here.  Because it's not all rainbows and lollipops.  And no blueberry muffins either.  Cause I've still got about 20 pounds of baby weight to lose.

 

And double chins only look good on babies...

 

So stay tuned for semi-regular updates from an old first-time mom struggling with hormones, self-doubt and the challenges that go along with fitting this new little person into an already well-established life. 

 

Sound like fun?  Yeah.  Welcome to my world.