This open letter to my baby has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #PurellWipes #CollectiveBias
One day you will grow up to find stories upon stories of your life, some beginning in utero. Stories of hardship. Stories of love. Stories of how the very first party I ever planned for you was rained out minutes before the guests arrived. We’ve been on quite the journey together and you’re a mere 10 weeks old.
Let this be perfectly clear, no matter what hormonal hot mess you stumble upon first, you are well worth the 8 (and counting) months of your dad running the house. Don’t fret, though. I should be back in the kitchen by the time you start eating food that doesn’t require latching on to some sort of nipple. At that point we should be feasting on something other than fish sticks and lukewarm broccoli.
Thankfully you are at the age where my unsightly appearance is lost on you and my ‘mom smell’ gets your attention whenever I walk into the room. Do you care that my legs are modern day woolly mammoths? Not so much. The only thing phasing you at this point in time is the time I save by not shaving because that means there is more time spent feeding you, burping you, and wiping your precious behind.
Or what about the time your dad thought letting you soar through the sky like Superman was a good idea? You upchucked all over his face with lightning speed. My sides were wrecked from the manic laughing following his funky afternoon mouthwash. Note: Laughing at people when they are injured isn’t polite. Laughing at someone who is brave enough to send a recently fed baby over their face is fair game.
Until you ralphed formula from my collarbone to my belly button.
Forcing me to wipe the crevasses of my sad, deflated breasts with a burp cloth before running another one of my trusty wipes over my skin. It was the jolt back to reality I needed to realize that sniff tests are easier to pass when regurgitated formula doesn’t come in contact with skin. Especially when it’s the skin your dad also enjoys nuzzling late at night.
A mom wearing yesterday’s spit-up, that’s who.