Don’t judge me…

Don’t judge that I let my kid dress himself. Of course not, you say. Why would I? It’s an effective way to let them feel in control of their day and their bodies. Well, if you saw him, you’d be tempted to judge. Just know that his new linebacker girth is due to more than a half dozen shirts and several pair of pants. He thinks it’s funny, this month, to wear as many clothes as possible. So laugh if you want, but don’t question my sanity because three undies, two pants, and five shirts equals 15 minutes of peace every morning as he gets ready, without prompting, all by himself.

I don’t think that serving peanut butter and honey for dinner makes me a bad mother. I don’t think that serving it for lunch and dinner on the same day makes me a bad mother. I think, now that we’re on day four of peanut butter and honey, I might be crossing into bad mother territory. So maybe I’ll have Spouse make dinner. Know what he’ll make? Peanut butter and lemon curd.

Hey, I know it’s not wise or thoughtful to stick my baby in the swing so I can take a business call. I never thought I’d be that person. We wore Peanut every hour of every day. Poor Butter is only in arms or sling 23 hours a day. And I feel retched about it. But don’t judge me. It was a quick and productive call (not one thing about parenting is quick and productive) and he didn’t even fall asleep in the swing. Alert little bugger, that one.

Don’t judge my late night stupidity, either. I woke after midnight for the first early a.m. feed and found Butter and his little co-sleeper bed soaked. Thoroughly drenched. Confused in part by the dim light and placement of the wetness, grogginess made me absolutely useless. He was wet everywhere, front and back, neck to waist. Did he puke? Wet through his doubled cloth diaper? There wasn’t anything near his face, and his pants were dry. I stripped him down to his diaper and nursed him while pondering. And then I changed him. The diaper was bone dry, except for the waistband. I had apparently diapered him pointing up rather than down, and he peed all over his chest all night. What do I know…I don’t have that optional and ridiculous equipment.

15 thoughts on “Don’t judge me…

  1. “Know what he’ll make? Peanut butter and lemon curd.”

    Who the hell IS this asshat you married? Can’t he fire up steaks on the grill at least? There are beginner grills by George Forman for steak n00bs! Lemon curd? LEMON CURD? Dude, slab of meat + potato + fire/heat = MEAL.

  2. Don’t you hate it when you forget to point the little gun down? And it is always in the middle of the night.
    And have you ever seen those pee pee tee pee’s for boys? Hilarious. My husband found them useful. Me, not so much.

    And PB H for dinner = awesome when you have babies.

  3. And I’d like to say “You’ll never make that mistake again” but I’m the mother of two boys and I know, all too well, the powers of sleep deprivation. So, me? Not judgin’ over here.

  4. I have my daughter home with me two days a week while I work. She lives in her swing or exersaucer. I’m sure I have only slightly traumatized her for life. That’s what therapy is for, right?

  5. You too? I hated when I forgot to point down, and then spent the entire feeding session (well, maybe not the whole session, since I was usually asleep as I nursed) wondering how that had happened…

    Happens to all of us…wishi I was closer to send some grub that did not include peanut butter, honey, or lemon curds…

  6. It took me a while to learn about the pointing down, but it eventually became second nature to make sure that the equipment was in place, so to speak. Until we potty trained eldest. And then, we had to figure out pointing all over again. Sigh.

  7. I just leaned something I’ve never known…you know, ’cause I have girls. I learn good stuff here.

    ((hugs)) wish I lived nearby so I could make you a nice pot of lentils.

  8. “optional and ridiculous equipment”…

    My youngest said to me tonight:
    “mommy, can I see your penis?”
    “no honey, girls don’t have penises”
    “I didn’t mean girls, I meant YOURS!”
    “Mommy doesn’t have a penis”
    “Not even when you were a little boy?”
    “I was a girl, not a boy”

    He looked very sad for me. Apparently we’re missing something…..

  9. Trust me. You have to relearn over and over again about penis placement.

    At least you have peanut butter. We ran out four days ago as well as tortillas, which means we;ve been screwed on lunches. Who wants more random pasta?

  10. Every parent of a little boy would learn lesson for the ARROW pointing down thing soon. ;-)

    May I add one please? Please don’t judge me for my son’s wearing a bow tie to the school musical. And also on picture day. Both semesters. Yes, he DID dress himself on those occasions. And please don’t judge me when I hid those school pictures and also the damn bow tie. (The bow tie was sent back by grandma together with daddy’s junk, stuff I mean, from kindergarten and grade school years…)

  11. i would never judge you. peanut is fed, right? end of story. and you say please to him lots, too. again, what’s to judge? so what he looks like a linebacker. back away, my friend. how was the view from the top of the cat tree? all that padding probably softens the fall. well done, nappy! also, i won’t even admit to how much one of my children spent in a swing as a colicky infant each day. one hour on one day = saint!

  12. I think peanut butter and honey sounds like a great dinner. And a little swing time is good for Butter. Anything not to go insane while taking phone calls is what I say. Which is why I always lock myself in the closet when I’m on an important call. Which is almost never. But still. I am important. Sometimes.

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