Recently, I was thinking about the state of my mommahood and noticed that the challenges have changed as Baby makes his way to The Great State of Toddlerhood. I even had the nerve to say out loud to my husband, "I think that my biggest challenge right now is walking the line between giving [Baby] gentle nudges to try new things and making sure I do not push him too far out of his comfort zone." Implicit in this statement is my ridiculous assumption that the earlier challenges of spit up catastrophes, poop explosions, and sleepless (days and) nights were all distant "memories" (i.e., "blog posts" because Mother Nature has been kind enough to give me amnesia about the early wilds of living with a newborn). Baby - again - proved me wrong.
It was a weekday morning. All was well. We were in the middle of the routine. Oatmeal, apple sauce, a scrambled egg. Done. Then a little fuss and cranky-face I like to call, "Get me out of this high chair before I come at you like a spider monkey." Down you go, Baby. Then his morning constitutional, and it's off to the changing table. I open the diaper and am on wipe number forty-two when Baby decides he is done with this part of the morning. He starts to kick his legs. One of his legs gets right into the good stuff and then smears it everywhere. As I try to use wipes to mitigate the situation, Baby's legs continue to smear while he reaches down to see what all the fuss is about. Casualties: changing pad cover, changing pad liner, PJs, Baby's hands and legs and belly, my own hands. A morning bath never seemed more appropriate.
Lesson learned, Baby. I promise not to get ahead of myself (or you) next time I think about the state of our momma/baby-hood.
