Saturday, April 2, 2011

Stinking Babies

I know, you're reading that title and are thinking one of the following things:

1. I hate children/babies (not them.  Have one of my own. Two if you are counting my stepdaughter, which I do)
2. Our four year-old has regressed and is un-potty trained, therefore creating a stink. (nope...but would love some helpful hints on how to nix the nighttime pull-ups)
3. Just wanted something catchy to grab your attention to read something unrelated to babies entirely. (I'm not that brilliant of a blogger...but thanks for the credit)

No, I'm lamenting my stupid and crazy state of being.  Here is what I am looking at this morning:

That is my boy Jack...almost 3.5 years ago.  Pardon me.  I must go to another room and weep a bit.

Okay, I'm back.  Look at that face.  Those sausage legs.  Those rolls on his wrists and knuckles.  Excuse me.

Whew.  That was rough.  Seriously, it is killing me.  That little face.  As I type this I can hear him in the basement "rawring" as he plays Iron Man in the playroom.  By himself.  Without his momma.  Oh the horrors.  

Well, working on his baby Mixbook, coupled with all of these women who are having babies (well it seems like EVERYONE is having babies) is making my stupid, idiotic ovaries scream in protest at me.  I keep telling them to shut up, but seriously, they aren't getting the message.  Stupid things.  They aren't the ones who have to get up and feed a baby in the middle of the night.  They don't change stinky diapers for years on end.  They don't lug diaper bags everywhere.  No, once they do their job, they go back to resting peacefully in a dark, warm place.  You know, like I get to now that Jack sleeps for 12 solid hours, can go without a diaper, feed himself, and play Iron Man in the basement without me (sob).  

No more babies for this momma.  I'm serious.  We are done.  I'm just having one of those moments where I'm staring at photographs of my baby and remembering only the best parts of it.  Someone out there remind me of the truly horrific parts.  Please.  Like how I won't be able to sit upright for at least two weeks after the bundle of joy arrives.  

Okay, that was enough.  I think that thought alone did it.

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