Happy Belated Mother's Day

On this my first Mother's Day, Alex was out of town with his father on business and not plying me with large diamonds or even toast and OJ, and it was pouring rain all day long, so the kid and I celebrated with the following festive activities: 

* Cleaning up misplaced animal poop (this is a recurring theme over here)

* Picking banana out of McNoodle's hair

* Trying (and failing) to unclog our bathroom sink using chemicals

* Trying (and failing) to unclog our bathroom sink using an old hanger

* Trying (and failing) to unclog our bathroom sink using force of will and swear words

PhotoBooth selfie! This symbolizes our relationship nicely.

* Giving up

* Following an extensive full-body fight with my infant daughter, cutting the fingernails on her right hand 

* Trying to do the left hand

* Failing

* Reading a children's book. And by reading I mean trying to read and show her the pictures, but not allow her to tear out the pages. This is educational in that it is teaching her to thwart me.

* Cutting her left thumb nail and pointer fingernail. 

* Cleaning up milk spilled on the couch

* Singing some nursery rhymes

* Brushing away many tears shed after McNoodle fell directly backwards from sitting position onto her head. Wondering how many times she can do this without causing damage.

* Practicing standing (Is this list boring for you? Not gonna lie, it isn't always riveting for me.)

* Noodle sits herself up successfully and directly in front of her toy, and congratulates herself by doing the Great Success! dance (both arms in the air, scream and slap the floor). My heart melts. All is right with the world. Wish Alex was here. 

* Things go wrong. I brush away more tears, this time shed in rage because we are not allowed to pull up the cables that are tacked around the perimeter of the living room floor NOR are we allowed to eat the dirt out of the potted plants NOR can we eat the candles NOR are we allowed to bang on Mommy's laptop or basically ever do anything really fun. And no, I can't pick you up and make your dinner at the same time. Life is cruel like that. 

* One more fingernail!

* Feeding the baby dinner. She did her thing where she screams and cries after every bite. I don't know why. This is a newish behaviour that is getting old very quickly. 

* Cleaning up food flung onto the floor/bookshelf/me. Where the f*** is Alex?

* Picking banana out of McNoodle's hair (one more time, with gusto!)

* Deciding to just give her a bath. It's something to do, right? Also, I will kill that man. 

* Last two fingernails. Yes! YES!! OMFG YESSS!

And so, a day late, I would like to thank my own mother from the bottom of my heart for having raised me without wringing my formerly tiny little neck. Mom, I love you. 

My mom, my daughter and I at Christmas. And a teddy bear. 

And to all of you women out there without babies, having very recently been one of you I know there ought to be an inclusive Women's Day for all of us. Let's work on that. Until that happens, to the moms, I hope you were properly celebrated, and if you weren't, that you properly celebrated your own self. To all of you with multiple children, and to all the single mommies, I bow in awe and would pick banana out of your hair any time. And to the Noodle--thanks for letting me get to be a mommy. I love you. 

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Parenting Fail: Part 1/529224315

On Monday I took young Nava to the doctor because she had been coughing a little on the weekend and her eyes had been red and runny. This was the first time she's ever been even a little sick and I wanted someone else to tell me that she's fine. As is always the way, her symptoms evaporated completely by the time we were in the doctor's waiting room. But I'm stubborn and anyway I had nothing else scheduled, so having gotten this far I decided there was no way we were leaving without seeing the doctor about something.

Not-sick Nava. Because she can't say no,
she has to wear elephant ears and bunny boots.
This is how we incentivize learning to talk. 

Happily (I guess), there was something! The infant had developed a pretty grody rash behind her ears. It was flaky and nasty. Now, my ignorance is a silky and voluptuous creature whom I hate to discourage, so I hadn't done any research or even much thinking about this rash and had simply put it down to "some kind of cradle cap or something". Despite knowing better, I also had a slight nagging worry that it was a symptom of psoriasis, my own familiar skin condition, which I obviously hope my daughter hasn't inherited. 

And so we waited at the doctor's office. One patient was a teeny weeny baby that must have been less than a week old. His (her?) parents looked exhausted and held their little bundle in that awkward super-newborn way where you're just trying to prevent the kid's head from dribbling down your front like a wet squid. It made me realize how much old Nava has solidified in the last three-and-a-half months. 

There was also a cute toddler girl who was tinkering with toys while her mother and grandmother were intently focused on some kind of cell phone game. At one point the girl dragged this mini rocking horse out from under a table to play with, but she only pulled it out halfway, so that once she got on she inevitably smacked the back of her head against the countertop. 

The girl's mom leapt up and over me in time to prevent her child from bumping her head a second time. Then she shot me the same look that you give a turd that has failed to flush. I was sitting closer to the rocking horse than the kid's mom, and, you know, I wasn't playing with my phone, so I guess it was my job to intervene and save her toddler's skull, but I was holding a baby and also I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. The kid didn't even notice she had banged her head. Whatever. So this other mom gave me the squint and I tried to act like a dignified turd who has better shit to worry about, so to speak. 

After that tiresome interlude in the waiting room, which I feel like doctors (and perhaps bloggers) insist on just to make a little more mountain out of what would otherwise be a negligible tad of molehill, we finally got in to the doctor. 

He instantly dismissed the suggestion that Nava was sick, so as planned I brought up the rash behind her ears. 

"Uh-oh, a rash?," said the doctor, who looks nothing like Santa but sort of talks like him sometimes. "Well, we had better take a look!" He carefully turned the baby's head from side to side to inspect behind each thumb-sized ear. 

He looked at me. "That is just dirt." 

"Oh," I said, deflated. "Just dirt?" 

Oh. 

"Yes, dirt," he said, slowly, as if explaining to a turd that it is not supposed to stick around but rather should swim away with its brothers. "One does actually have to clean the babies. I would suggest treating the ears with a washcloth and soap, and later applying almond oil. That should do it."  

Flushed, I left.