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.
I feel as though I owe you an explanation. Your life up to now has been anything but hygienic. I apologize for the foul odors you’ve had to endure. I can only imagine what it was like each time I lifted my arm to plop my nipple in your mouth because I was too lazy, and too tired, to offer you a proper feeding. You know, one that included a comfortable nursing pillow.
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.
Speaking of behinds, did you know you have this uncanny ability to begin pooping, pause all bodily fluids for what seems like an eternity, and resume your bowel movement like no time has passed? You’re tricky. Although I must say hearing how your nana walked around the house with poop in her hand was pretty freaking hilarious. I won’t even sit here and say I wasn’t pleased knowing that someone else had to deal with your fecal matter for once. At least I keep a canister of PURELL® Hand Sanitizing Wipes nearby. I’m pretty sure all parents can agree, sometimes you have to find a way to clean and sanitize without leaving the trenches.
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.
And then there was the time I traded my oversized t-shirt and yoga pants for a flimsy nightie number. It was my first attempt at looking less like an unkempt mom of a baby and more like a foxy boo thang for your daddy. You had found your skin to skin nook and, as I rocked you back to sleep, I reflected on the newborn bonding that I will forever treasure seeing how you are my final squish…
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.
I know I’m not the only mom out there wondering what it’s like to enjoy a warm meal, with two hands, again. Who also happens to be a mom dreaming of the day the garbage can is the only place tiny crackers go to die. Who, more than anything, is smitten with their bundle of joy to the point of trading the luxury of a parfum for the rank fragrance associated with bile. These are the days we will long for down the road, no?
Are you one of my fellow moms looking for a quick wipe down before crawling back into bed at 4am? If so, PURELL Hand Sanitizing Wipes are available in the household cleaning aisle at Walmart in 70-count and 35-count canisters. And don’t forget your coupon or their wicked convenient loyalty program like I did. Who does that?
A mom wearing yesterday’s spit-up, that’s who.