My baby is the cutest thing I've ever seen so why not be the cutest thing anybody else has ever seen? Last week I went to a baby shower for a friend and rather than leave baby home with Ben I decided, "I am going to take her and let everybody love her." A few things you should know about me: 1) I do things fast. Walk fast, eat fast, clean fast, I try to get ready fast. No dilly dallying here, 2) I perspire when I do things fast and when it's hot outside, 3) I also perspire when all attention is on me, 4) I like to be the center of attention when it's for a good reason, i.e., a funny joke I so wittingly told, looking nice, giving a good lesson at church, etc., 5) on the flip side, I loathe myself and everyone around me when I am the center of attention for something bad, i.e., "Hey your skirt is tucked up in your underwear," falling down, or saying something stupid.
Back to the story. This shower came on the tail end of a rough day. Baby had cried all day--due to acid reflux that we didn't know she had--but we got her calmed down, fed, dry, and mostly happy. I pulled myself together (as fast as I could) after crying right along with the baby all day too and off we went to the shower with me in a sweaty ball of quickly expiring makeup and a soon-to-be frizzy hairdo. I thought I could just blast the AC in the car and it would be ok. It sort of was.
Upon arrival at the shower, I was the instant center of attention. Yay! People wanted to see my cute baby. I know she's not an arm charm but I also get nervous that when I take her places she is going to scream and crap her pants all over at the same time. As a new mom, I am not used to having to take care of another person like this so it's slightly overwhelming.
She began to fuss when another invitee's two-year-old daughter decided to rock the carseat back and forth as hard as possible, causing her to spit up. I decided that rather than try to calm her in her seat, taking her out would do it. Instead, her little arm got caught in one of the car seat straps and she wailed when I didn't notice and nearly ripped her limb out of the socket. Feeling like a total tard at this point, I didn't know what to do because she was screaming during one of the lame shower games the old ladies had planned for my friend.
I noticed her acting hungry. It seemed odd because Ben had fed her an hour previously. (Turns out babies confuse acid reflux with hunger. So frequent feedings are a symptom of the nasty that is heartburn--just FYI.) I decided to be the "fun party" mom who could participate in the game from behind everybody and mix up a bottle while standing, holding my child in the other arm. Remember how I do things fast? Sweat when I do things fast? Sweat when all eyes are on me? At this point sweat was running down my face. It's not a lie. After about 10 intensely warm minutes of feeding, standing, baby bouncing, shushing, etc., I told the guest of honor to open my gift because I needed to go.
She opened it and then came to say goodbye. I was spent and literally washed up. It had already been a rough day. Can you guess what the cherry on top of the whole thing was? Well there are two cherries. Cherry #1: While walking to the car I noticed my shirt was entirely soaked where I had been holding the baby against me. Cherry #2: When I got in my car, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed about five little strands of hair swept all the way across my forehead and PASTED there with nothing other than my own sweat. I felt like a pitiful, embarrassed, wringing wet mess. I cried the whole way home, telling myself that motherhood is not my bag.
Subsequently, we ended up at the pediatrician's office the next day and then at the pharmacy buying acid reflux medicine. Baby is better and much happier. And I have decided that momhood is my bag after all. I called Beej to tell her about my horror and she just laughed said, "Well you get over that stuff." And my reply was, "Well the only way to get over this is to post it on my blog for all to laugh at." And now I am over it and none of you are actually staring at me.
