The Mother of Necessity

OK, look. We humans have been doing this having a baby thing for awhile now, right? Depending on which Wikipedia source you look at, it could be as long as 3.2 million years. So yeah, awhile.

We've come a long way for sure. I mean, the car seat that fits on the stroller is a pretty crucial piece of equipment. The Pack-N-Play? You mean I can bring her bed with me anywhere? Sold! And no parent would dream of leaving the house without a travel pack of wipes.

But frankly, I'm shocked we haven't gotten just a little further than where we're at. Inventors, you should be ashamed. What exactly are you working on? The Segway?

And don't be stealing my ideas. These are totally patent pending.

Invention 1: BabyMeter
Three things cause crying in infants. That's it. Three. Hunger, needing sleep or a dirty diaper. Of course, in the heat of the moment you forget this.

Crying triggers a parent's "Oh my God, the world is ending. Fix the baby! THE SCREAMS!!! THEY DON'T END! HOWCANIMAKEITSTOP!?!?!" instinct. You find yourself exhausting every possible option but the Golden Three.

When you finally regain your senses, you then have to figure out which of the Golden Three is causing the distress.

For those naive few out there who think this part of the problem-solving is easy...hah. Oh, that diaper can't possibly be dirty since you just changed it 30 seconds ago? Hah. Oh, you think the baby isn't tired since they woke up from a 2-hour nap 15 minutes ago? Hah. The baby isn't due to eat again for another hour...at least? Hah.

Have you tried to feed a child who has gone into meltdown mode because they are hungry? Do you know what the last thing a child wants to do when their head has caught on fire and their shrieks summon Pterodactyls straight from the Mesozoic Era? Eat.

The whole trick with parenting is solving the problem BEFORE it's a problem.

I'm inventing the BabyMeter. A handy dandy gadget you can stick in the baby's ear or slap on their forehead to indicate exactly the source of trouble. I know. Brilliant. And hold onto your hats because I'm about to blow your minds. I went the extra mile. You're welcome.

You can totally use this as a gauge to assess how long you have before you reach meltdown mode.

"What do you think, dear? Another glass of wine before we head home? Let's check the BabyMeter...ooooh, it looks like we have an overtired meltdown due to hit in about 7 minutes. Drink fast."

Invention 2: Cry-Be-Gone
Mothers, as a group, are a self-conscious lot and I am their leader, hear me roar. Nothing turns the embarrassment spotlight on faster than your baby crying in public.

A crying baby makes heads swivel. It's the grocery store version of rubber necking. If there isn't blood spewing from the baby's eyeballs or limbs strewn among the cereal boxes, then you're clearly an unfit mother and obviously doing something wrong.

The looks immediately change from concern to contempt. Can you not hear the baby? Why can't you take care of the baby, already? Are you sure you should be grocery shopping right now? I'm pretty sure you are the first mother whose child has ever cried.

This may or may not be all in my imagination. But I guarantee, I'm not the only one. Let's hear it for insecure mothers everywhere!

News flash: Babies cry. And sometimes you can't do a damn thing about it. And sometimes you need to go food shopping or else there will be a Mad Max Thunderdome throwdown at the house over who gets the last snack serving of kettle corn microwave popcorn - and no one in the house even likes that crap. You just accidentally bought it because last time you were so frazzled at the grocery store you just threw things into the cart and ran in hopes of avoiding the meltdown-judgement embarrassment.

Thankfully, you no longer have to eat kettle corn popcorn.

Cry-Be-Gone is the first noise-cancelling stroller.

Baby about to cry because the wind changed directions? No problem! Just drop the top and...VOILA! Instant silence.

 Food shopping no longer needs to be the stress-filled, guilt-ridden excursion it once was.

Invention 3
Actually, I don't have a third invention, but my OCD compels me to always do things in sets of three.

We are now accepting orders.

Takes After Her Dad

The kid likes to talk.

To anyone.

Actually...

To anyTHING. See for yourself.

You're Either In or You're Out

It's down to the two of you. One you will be the winner of Project Baby Carrier.

Moby, when the competition started it looked as though nothing was going to stop you. We particularly enjoyed your newborn looks for the Food Shopping challenge, the Dog Walking challenge and the Getting a Fussy Newborn to Nap challenge.

Mom found you easy to use, convenient to pack and slipping a sleeping newborn in was no problem.

Unfortunately, somewhere around the 12 lb. mark, you began to show some limitations. Right on your label it says mothers shouldn't move from the newborn hold to the hug hold until 3-4 months. Unfortunately by month 2, the baby was no longer happy in the newborn hold. It was tight, she looked uncomfortable and was turning an alarming red color. When we switched to the hug hold, her head wasn't supported and she was still working on holding that giant appendage up on her own.

And, of course, the shrinkage in the dryer was huge misstep. New moms don't like to feel FATTER after they've had a baby; and your two-inch shrinkage did just that.

Ergo, we were super excited to have you in this competition. For starters, you were burnt orange which gave you a leg up with the Texans among us. But you really stumbled out of the gate. Actually, you fell straight on your face. You swallowed the newborn whole. Even with your proclaimed newborn insert.

We were going to cut you that first week, but your burnt orange kept you in the race. We're glad we took a gamble on you.

You've really emerged as a contender down the stretch.

When the baby was just starting to get control of her head, you hit your stride. You're comfortable for her and super comfortable for Mom. The baby likes to hold onto your straps to help her keep her head up and look around while out for a walk.

We still have some concerns about the rumors of you being bad for infants' legs, but the baby in question can comfortably straddle Mom's torso and Mom lifts her up every now and then and moves her legs around to make sure circulation is happening.

So...who is it going to be?

You really are both great products and we are so glad you have been part of this project. We wish we could pick both of you because you each have your own strengths. But, eventually, there can be only one winner.

The winner of Project Baby Carrier is....Ergo.

Moby, I'm sorry. You had a great start, indispensable really, but you just don't seem like you'll be in it for the long-term. But don't give up. Perhaps in a month or so, you'll be ready. Until then...

Auf Wiedersehen.

Hard Knocked Life

Poor Bean. She's been getting a lot of bad press lately. The meltdowns, the fire shooting out of her eyeballs business and her stubborn resolution to let no one other than myself handle her.

But it's tough being an infant. And guys, she's upset. I can tell because she mostly looks like this these days:

It isn't easy being a baby...

Day 100 BC (Before Catastrophe)
Today was another awesome day. It's still a balmy 98.6 degrees and I love waking up hearing the ocean outside my room.

Day 150 BC
It is so nice for room service to keep sending me brownies with salted caramel ice cream. I should do some jumping jacks to make sure I don't get too fat. Right after my nap.

Day 210 BC
I think I need to lay off the ice cream. It's getting a little tight in here.

Day 250 BC
HOLY CRAP...I think there's an earthquake happening...check my Twitter account for updates! @BabyD

Day 1 AD (After Disrupting-the-Awesome)

Yesterday SUCKED.

 

Day 6 AD

I am definitely sending a letter to the head of security at the hospital. Those guards let the milk bitch and the freak who keeps taking my picture walk right out with me! Clearly they are part of some South American gang selling babies on the black market. The hideout house is filled with all of their captives.

It doesn't look good for me. The neglect is palpable. It won't be too long before I'm covered in hair, drooling and licking my own butt.

Day 15 AD
Dear People I Don't Know Who Insist on Talking to Me,

Get out of my facial! You are freaking me out.

Back off. The milk bitch just trimmed my nails. They are sharp as razor blades and I know how to use them.

Kisses,
The Bean

Day 46 AD
Today was just another page in this hellish book I call life.

It's bad enough that the milk bitch drags me EVERYWHERE with her. But she is taking it too far now.

Day 91 AD
There was finally a glimmer of hope today!

The Day Christmas Was Stolen

A few weeks back it was Mrs. D-Zo Christmas.

Friends of ours wanted to meet The Bean and since they have a 9-month old, we needed to meet during the day before both of our children grew horns and hooves and turned into night demons from the underworld.

You guys are never going to guess where they suggested we meet up.

The Ice Cream Festival!!!

A festival!!!!

Of ice cream!!!!

Yes, please.

Since I'm never one to build expectations so high in my head that they could never possibly be met, I immediately started dreaming about all the ice cream deliciousness I'd encounter. Red velvet ice cream is the new hotness, and naturally I'm going to want to sample some good ol' perfectly executed chocolate, and maybe, because you need to be adventurous at these things, I'll get myself a tiny scoop of some bacon-infused something or other and wash it down with peanut butter ice cream because it turns out bacon ice cream is nasty. It was going to be a most excellent outing.

Day of, we arrive at the park. The Bean is strapped in. I've eaten a piece of celery all day and am totally prepared to get my ice cream on.

When we couldn't immediately find which part of the park the festival was taking place in, I should have suspected something. But it's a pretty big park so we walked around.

A loud noise a few hundred yards from where we were caught my attention.

Aha!

We turned a bend and there in its glory was the ice cream festival!

Although...I wouldn't really call it a festival. A festival brings to mind row after row of vendor booths, weird artsy things, live musicians, port-o-potties and some stoners.

Leading the path to "the lane of 6 booths" festival, was an ice cream truck. You know, the guy who sells Bomb Pops, Choco Tacos and Sno Cones. And from what I could tell, his line was the longest.

Ruh-Roh Shaggy.

But I stay optimistic, determined to have an orgasmic ice cream experience. We decide to make a lap up and down ice cream alley.

Our recon, did not provide the glimmer of hope I was seeking.

At the opposite end from the ice cream truck was the "live music." A DJ who was blaring into his microphone asking the audience "DO YOU LIKE TO WEAR JEANS?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!! DO YOU LIKE TO WEAR JEANS?????"

Um...sometimes?

And then, amazingly, a rap song about wearing jeans came across the loud system.

We passed 6 or 7 booths. 4 of these booths were selling things OTHER than ice cream. Cup cakes, funnel cake, hot dogs.

I was beginning to think we were at the crap food festival.

2...TWO booths had ice cream. The lines, as you might imagine, wrapped around the park. But I was getting ice cream dammit.

I'm so cute when I'm delusional.

We hear the murmurs about 5 minutes after we get in line. "They're out of ice cream."

You can wait for my shocked face. Wait for it...

It now made sense why the ice cream man was making out like a bandit. I was tempted to run to the grocery store, pick up some Ben & Jerry's and make a killing charging $4 a cup.

We left with Michael having not sampled anything and I had a tasting of some strawberry/lemon sorbet. While delicious - is in no way, shape or form ice cream.

Am I wrong in thinking that the first rule of the ice cream festival is have some mother f*cking ice cream???

We headed straight to our local ice cream shop, because once ice cream is emblazoned on my neurons, we better be getting some damn ice cream.

I get a feather up my ass about ordering a coffee milkshake. See note above about setting realistic expectations. It's all I can think about. Remembering how much I love coffee milkshakes. I haven't had one in YEARS. Life is about to be awesome again.

Everyone from the failed ice cream festival had the same idea we did. More lines. Yea. But this place is equipped with ice cream; a novel business plan for sure. And I order my coffee milkshake.

I really should've just ordered a chocolate sundae and drowned that shit in fudge, peanuts and whipped cream.

Moral of the story: While hard to believe, ice cream can indeed be the cause of great disappointment.

le sigh.

Shame

I'm not proud of it.

It just sort of happened.

Curiosity mixed with desperation will make you do things you are ashamed to admit.

We thought it would just be a funny joke, but then it turned serious. It got bigger than we imagined, quicker than we could control it.

Just this once, we said. But we had to go back for more. The effects were profound. Mind boggling. Life changing. We couldn't stay away.

And when things get tough, we go back for more.

[deep breath]

My name is Mrs. D-Zo and I have let The Bean watch The Wiggles.

What!?!?! I know she's only 3 months old, but you don't understand. It's child voodoo magic.

One morning Michael and I were wondering what our life was going to be like once The Bean was at the age where she would be watching Sesame Street, that show with the giant goofy-looking alien creatures who may or may not be promoting Gay Pride and the dreaded purple dinosaur.

YouTube makes things too easy.

One quick search term and there they were. All The Wiggles videos you could hope for...and then 5,004 more.

We clicked on the one called Hot Potato. And the dapper, primary-colored gents began their siren call.

The Bean was sitting across the room and her head snapped around. This child, who has looked like a drunken sailor for the past month trying to get her head to cooperate, was suddenly in full control. She zeroed in on them and by the second sentence had a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. By the second verse, she was dancing in her bouncer and gazing adoringly at her new masters. "Your bidding is my command."

We laughed. It was cute. Then we turned it off and gave her a block to practice her motor skills.

The following week, bath time inadvertently launched Beanaggedon 2011.

I tried feeding her. I tried reading to her. I tried the binky. I tried bribery. I tried logic.

Michael walked in with The Wiggles.

That child immediately shut up and snapped to attention like the brainwashed minion she was. Less than half a nanosecond from hearing their voices, she was grinning like a fool, drooling uncontrollably, and trying to break free from my grasp so she could get her groove thing on.

These guys have figured it out. The 17 MILLION hits on the Hot Potato video is proof.

Desperate parents unite!

Don't look at me.

Lost in Translation

Living with an infant is much like taking in a foreign exchange student. Neither one of you speaks the other's language.

There's some trial and error. A little charades. And a whole lot of "I give up. I'll try back later."

Luckily, I am going through an immersion class in deciphering infant body language and noises. Naturally, I am here to share some tips with you.

Lesson 1:

Lesson 2:

Lesson 3:

You're welcome.

(Special shout out to Alexandra who The Bean has deemed an acceptable chair.)