No Ban No Wall, Baby Bop agrees

I have an unshakeable queasiness. I go about my daily life: brushing my teeth, taking care of my baby and it stabs me again and again. The psychological weight of this evil White House administration is constant.

Baby Bop agrees, so I’m filling her calendar with protests. We didn’t make it to the one at Logan airport because it was past our bedtime, but we made it to one yesterday and looks like there’s one on Wednesday that’ll fit in great with our nap schedule.

Meanwhile on the home front, physical therapy is winding down. Am I like new? No. If I were posting my vagina for sale on Amazon I would need to label it as “good.”  As in it has had some solid use, there are small markings and folds, but it’s in usable condition. I could try passing it off as “very good.” As in it has had minimal use, is unmarked, undamaged and shows limited signs of wear. But we all know that’s not true.

After my regular appointment with my physical therapist, she hands me over to a 25-year-old guy to help me go through my exercises. He has an even younger trainee with him. This guy looks like he just started sleeping through the night. He might be 21.

I do my squats. The 25-year-old attempts small talk,

“How’s the sleep going?”

Once this guy has to feed a baby at 3am for months on end, then we can talk about sleep.

Out of nowhere a random woman walks up to Baby Bop’s stroller and starts touching her. My insides recoil and I almost drop the 17 pound weight that’s standing in for Baby Bop. The woman notices my concern and reassures me,

“I have a baby too.”

Part of me softens, but the other part of me screams, well then what the heck are you thinking?

I try to focus on my squats. The 21-year-old looks over the list of exercises I’m supposed to do and asks the 25-year-old,

“So what’s the injury?”

“Childbirth or something like that.”

Something like that? What is something like childbirth?

Baby Bop preferred to protest from inside my coat. Don’t worry, she made her voice heard.

Baby Bop asleep for the win!

Today is a magnificent day. Baby Bop napped on her own for an hour. On her own, as in not attached to my body. No boob in her mouth, no boob on her cheek, no boob within smelling distance. And no one bouncing her. She might as well have told me that she just got accepted to college for the joy and relief I feel.

The rational part of my brain has understood all along that someday she’ll sleep on her own. The problem is the rational part of my brain hasn’t been around much these last 6 months.

While she slept, I made and ate a sandwich, had a coffee and started a blog. And it was only a minor meltdown when she awoke to the indignity of a missing boob.

It’s good that this coincides with her gaining weight, 16 pounds and counting. At physical therapy the other day, I mention I booked a ski trip. My physical therapist cheers for me and tells me to do squats. She asks,

“How much does your baby weigh?”

“16 pounds.”

She hands me a 17 pound weight with a handle and tells me,

“Do 4 sets of 10 squats holding this weight, it’s just like your baby.”

“If she grew a handle.”

I’m going to be in such great shape, I’ll be able to ski while I hold Baby Bop.

KIDDING! But it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever had.

Who’s harder to photograph, a dog or a baby?

Happy New Year! I didn’t make any resolutions because I wasn’t awake at midnight. That’s how that works right? If I were to make one resolution, it would be to write more. I wouldn’t mind showering more too, but one thing at a time.

Did you know that JCPenney’s Portrait Studio takes photos of dogs? Did you know that JCPenney’s has a portrait studio? Now you do. And what’s better than a photo of a dog and a baby? I call to schedule an appointment. The lady tells me,

“Any photos with pets have to be the last appointment of the day.”

“What time is that?”

“5pm.”

“That’s a hard time for my baby.”

Silence.

There appears to be no negotiating. 5pm it is. I ask,

“What’s the cancellation policy?”

“Give us a call anytime, no problem.”

Perfect. I’m going with an 80% chance of cancelling and a 20% chance of showing up with Baby Bop in some stage of disintegration.

Day of the photo shoot, Baby Bop takes an epic 3 hour afternoon nap. And Booker, our chocolate lab, appears well rested.

My mom, Captain, Baby Bop, Booker and I head to the mall. Booker is thrilled. He’s never been to JCPenney’s before. Baby Bop has never been to JCPenney’s either, but she is not as thrilled. Although she does seem to be keeping it together.

We’re early and they’re running late. We stand near the studio in the curtain department. Should I nurse Baby Bop? How is she going to make it another half hour? These are the dilemmas of my life. And I never know what the right decision is.

Several people come up to Booker and say,

“I’m going to talk to you, because I’m sure everyone is talking to the baby.”

No one is talking to the baby and that’s just fine.

We head into the studio. The photographer tells us,

“You can let your dog free to explore so he’ll calm down.”

He’ll never calm down. He’s 12-years-old and it appears that the answer to old age is carrying your favorite rubber rattle around and never stop moving.

The photographer asks,

“Mom, will the baby sit on her own?”

I glance at my mom. Oh RIGHT. I’m “mom.” I ask the photographer,

“Maybe?”

I’m in charge of trying to have Baby Bop sit. My mom is charge of trying to get Booker to sit. We’re both in charge of trying to get them to sit near each other. The photographer tells us,

“Closer together.”

Booker starts to scramble away.

“Closer together.”

Baby Bop wobbles, but stays upright.

“Great!”

Now in an attempt to get Booker and Baby to look at her. The photographer makes a clicking sound. Booker dashes straight for her.

We try again. Baby seated. Dog seated. Photographer makes clicking sound. Dog jumps up.

She’s using the same sound we use when we want him to come to us. Booker hasn’t sat still for more than a second.

This seems to be a disaster, but the photographer keeps at it. We get some adorable shots. Booker is smiling in all of them. I know what you’re thinking: ‘there’s no way to tell whether a dog is smiling or not.’ Oh but there is. He never smiles in a “stay” at home. See home on the left and JCPenney’s on the right.

On the other hand, Baby Bop isn’t smiling in any of the photos, but she’s also not crying, so this is going down as a win.

We head out to the car for our drive home. Captain tells me,

“I think Baby Bop likes us.”

“Yup. I think we’re guaranteed that for at least 13 years.”