I am kind of paranoid. And due to said paranoia, I was pretty certain I was doomed to be an over-protective parent. It’s how I was raised (don’t deny it, Mom & Dad), and I reckoned it was encoded in my genetic makeup. And when she came out a preemie? I expected myself to have 8,000 items in my cart at http://www.plasticbabybubble.com.
This week, Posey will be 8 months old. I’m happy to report that I’m not as cuckoo as I expected myself to be. Wanna hold her? Sure! Dirty hands? That’s cool– it builds up her immunity. Nap time is lax– it happens every day, but not at the same exact time– and nothing is baby-proofed yet. However, there are a few things on my list that have recently floated to the top of my motherhood ocean, and I cannot skim them off.
When I push the stroller past a dog on the street, my whole body tenses. I am sure the leash will snap when that pit bull mistakes Posey for a Cornish game hen. Today, we went to a barbecue, and the host’s giant pooch came a-sniffin’. Beef didn’t react, so I decided to take his lead and not freak out. Then the dog stuck its schnoz in the Pose’s face… and licked her. She smiled. I did not. Later, Beef told me he didn’t jump because he didn’t want to scare the dog, but he was pretty sure our baby was gonna get dingo-ed. So dogs = baby eaters. This is a proven fact. Horrifying.
At this same barbecue, some friends were toting their infant in a fabric sling. The baby was so happy. She was sound asleep, curled up in fetal position– which is the first time I’ve ever used that phrase about someone who was recently an actual fetus. It was so Mother Earthy. My baby, on the other hand, was sweaty and mad, strapped in her heavy-ass car seat that’s giving me forearm wrinkles from the increasing weight. I was so jealous of the sling. But I have to stick to my guns. Slings = Baby Suffocators. Also a proven fact.
Huge sun hat, gobs of baby sunscreen. Her skin is so perfect– how would I ever forgive myself for ruining it? All winter, I looked forward to taking her to the pool. She might have to wear a swimming snow-suit. For the coverage.
I am nutty about nuts. Beef is, too. We also eat a lot of granola bars. I can’t tell you how many times one of us has eaten a peanut butter granola bar, smooched the baby, freaked out, and ran to wash her face. At least I’m not alone in this behavior, because it’s pretty specific.
What weird is that last week, we were both totally okay with her putting a pacifier in her mouth that had fallen on the floor of a church. You know, the kind that’s never had its floor washed ever since being built in literally 1899.
113 Year Old Dirt = Puts Hair On Your Chest.