Random concerns about motherhood
Random concerns about motherhood:
So in about a month I will know for sure if I am indeed pregnant and if so, with how many. It has occurred to me that although I consider myself well versed in the basics of mothering, I have absolutely NO IDEA how to deal with those stupefying moments with baby where lack of sleep and hormones cause the brain to freeze in sticky situations and result in acute embarrassment. These are the scenarios that are most concerning to me at the moment:
Location: a very crowded Walmart with unbelievable long checkout lines
I have an entire cart full of perishable groceries along with a I’m-down-to-zero diaper restock and all of a sudden baby starts screaming at the top of her lungs. Why is she screaming may you ask? Lord only knows. Perhaps (flip a coin for the correct answer) she: is absolutely fed up with a milk-only diet and has now decided that milk chocolate fudge is within her range of a reasonable diet; has decided to prove once again that karma is a, well it just sucks, and is now punishing me for accidently putting her diaper on backwards at 3am yesterday morning, or doing what babies do best (they cry).
Meanwhile, I have decided that: she has come down with a 3rd world disease and will now turn orange as a direct result of my putting her diaper on backwards at 3am the other morning; everyone in the ENTIRE STORE is now staring at me and can clearly see that she is turning orange and only the worst mom in the world would ever put their baby’s diaper on backwards for goodness stake; last but not least, I need a vacation-stat.
Another sticky scenario:
Location: A very quiet waiting room at the doctor’s office
In a room full of quietly reading patients, baby cunningly picks this exact moment to have a rather noisy um, BM, peppered with rather impressive bouts of gas expulsion which I am sure will cause the folks on the other side of town to lift their heads from their desks in utter amazement at what they’ve just heard. I am mortified, stupefied, and find myself struggling mightily not to erupt in raucous laughter born from a form of pride that only mothers know. (Did my baby-wayby make a poopy-whoopy?) A few seconds later, the toxic gas cloud has made it’s way across the room and a slightly deafened elderly woman catches a whiff, then turns to her nearest neighbor and gives a once-over reproving glare, which I happen to catch. I quickly lose all of my resolve to pretend nothing has happened and at once break out in the tale-tale laugher of guilty gas offenders. I pack up my stinky child and excuse myself to the nearest baby changing station, laughing all the way.