Now I understand why moms think it’s okay to lick their finger and wipe something off of their kid’s face

Posted on September 23, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Bodily fluids. There are a lot and Baby Bop and I are sharing them all.

She gives me saliva. I give her milk. She gives me spit up and dirty diapers. I give her a bath. Sometimes I take a shower.

When I was pregnant, I figured I’d be so grossed out by spit up that I’d be changing my shirt on the reg. Not only do I not change it on the reg, I probably wear it longer than I would a clean shirt. Why put on a clean shirt when it’s going to get more spit up on it in 5 minutes?

The other day the pediatrician looks at Baby Bop’s bottom and declares,

“Her diaper rash is a yeast infection.”

She prescribes butt cream and sends us on our way. I tell Captain. He jokes,

“Baby Bop has jock itch.”

Yup. And it turns out that Mommy has jock itch on her nipples. Which means Baby Bop may have jock itch in her mouth. Yes I’m referring to myself as mommy. I talk to Baby Bop about myself in the third person all the time,

“Who loves the baby? Mommy loves the baby.”

I have no idea why. It just happens. Maybe this is how she learns my name.

The nurse offers advice for saving my nipples,

“If you can, get some sun on them.”

I would love to relax at a topless beach right now. How do I make that happen?

As I continue to care for Baby Bop’s bottom better than I’ve ever cared for mine, I bend close to examine the rash. This is a terrible idea. Captain tells me,

“I never get that close.”

Yes. That’s sensible. So I’m down there, with my nose inches away from the cutest little butt I’ve ever seen, and SPURT. Projectile poop shoots straight up my nose. Not on my cheek. Up my nose.

What surprised me the most was that I wasn’t grossed out. I was just annoyed that I had another mess to clean up.

And some messes do require a clean shirt:

I want to eat my baby

Posted on September 14, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

Baby Bop is 2 months old and everyone is getting the hang of things. Captain is getting the hang of being back at work. I’m getting the hang of having Captain back at work and Baby Bop is getting the hang of being a baby.

She is good at eating, crying, pooping and smiling. She’s also very good at sleeping for short stints of time. Nothing exciting happens at 3am, but she keeps waking up to check.

Someday soon she’ll realize she has hands, which will be nice for her because they keep whacking her in the face.

I’ve had a few evenings with time to myself in the bathroom, nice quality reading time. One parenting book has a section on baby talk and how to do it if you’re not a natural. It states,

“If you can carry on a conversation with a dog, you should have no problem with baby talk.”

Check.

I’m loving how adorable she is. I understand I am the most biased person in the world. The other day I’m deep in the baby talk. I tell her,

“I could just eat you up.” I proceed to munch on her cheeks. “I could just eat you right up.” More munching. “Look at these legs! I’m going to eat them.”

Captain comes in the room and tells Baby Bop,

“I’m here to rescue you before Mommy swallows you whole.”

I would NEVER! I just want lots of little nibbles.

My blog has come down to this. Eating babies.

As Baby Bop fusses less, I’m able to try on more adorable outfits. Lots of pink and ruffles, bonnets and bows.

I understand that the diaper bag needs to have extra outfits for her, but I’m reluctant to put anything really cute in there, because I want all the cutest stuff out for her to wear.

So then comes a diaper explosion the other day. Poop through multiple layers of her clothes. Out comes the diaper bag outfit: white onesie and gray pants with ruffles. We continue on our way. Someone stops me,

“Oh cute little baby, is it a boy?”

An hour later someone else stops to look,

“Aw, is it a boy?”

We make it home to our building. A neighbor remarks,

“Is it a boy?”

What’s more gender neutral than white and gray? Also do ruffles mean nothing anymore? It’s time for her giraffe costume. Boy? Girl? NOPE. Giraffe.

Baby giraffe photo coming soon.

Everybody loves a good bonnet:

Got good food? I’ll make milk

Posted on September 1, 2016 by Good Times with Jess

It’s hard to keep track of all the different parts of my body that have changed. Never mind what’s changed back. Who am I?

The changes I want to keep, clear skin and slow-growing leg hair, are both no more. I’m a mom with a head of straight and curly hair. My leg hair is out of control. When I manage to have a shower and there’s time to wash my hair OR shave my legs, I prioritize my hair.

My feet have gone from a size 10 to a size 11. Looks-wise they’re the same. So no vanity issues. Size-wise I have a problem. I’ve never been a crazy shoe-shopper person, but I like them and I wear them. I’ve been a size 10 for 20 years. That’s a lot of time to amass a reasonable shoe collection. Now all I can do is look at it. Don’t get me started on my two-year-old ski boots.

My boobs are another story. They’re huge compared to pre-pregnancy, but not that big compared to other milk-filled boobs. They used to just hang out and keep to themselves. Now they’re acting like they’re running the show. They’re colluding with my subconscious mind.

The other night Captain and I pick up takeout. We get home and I take my shirt off. Our place is officially a topless joint. If I’m not nursing, then I’m letting them air out.

I chow down on my salad with spicy peanut dressing. It’s so good! I hear something drip on the floor, did I spill salad dressing? I look down. Nothing. I continue to devour my salad. More dripping. What’s happening? I look down again. Milk is spurting out of both boobs.

My oxytocin is flowing.

Captain rushes to get me a burp cloth. He tells me,

“I definitely don’t enjoy my food as much as you do.”