Contamination contained. We set up a perimeter. No babies will be escaping from this facility. Now our evil plans can begin mwahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!

Since rolling has quickly turned into scooting in circles and the occasional attempt to push up on his knees we decided it was time to get started on the baby-proofing. Of course, just like EVERYTHING ELSE about parenthood, you can only be prepared for half of it. The things you thought you absolutely had to have (ahem BUMBO SEAT) were totally unnecessary and you end up running through the street at 11:00 pm throwing money at anyone who promises to get you the stuff you neeeeeeeed.

The real victims of the baby proofing are our pets. The stupid evil cat can’t figure out how to get through the gate (hint: YOU JUST WALK THROUGH IT YOU’RE A CAT). The dog can no longer run to the front door and greet every single visitor we have OMG TRAGIC. And the stupid nice cat has already decided she’d prefer if I opened it FOR her so she sits and meows. Odds are we’re going to have at least one poop on the floor incident before we reach acceptance. Although since the gate is between the couch and the bathroom, I wouldn’t rule E out of that race. Kidding honey!

No, not Baby Evan’s anxiety. Mine. I almost lost my marbles the other day at the thought of leaving Evan in someone else’s care for twenty minutes. How could a stranger possibly nurture my precious snowflake in my absence? I mean, he could get hungry and start crying and his mommy won’t be there to hold him! I bet that’s the first thing everyone says in therapy: “My mother wasn’t there that one time I cried.” Besides, I don’t know these people. Maybe they secretly hate babies and would pinch him as soon as my back was turned. Are they qualified? What if they’re drug dealers? Or child molesters? I mean, that’s not usually who works in a church nursery but YOU NEVER KNOW.

I wasn’t expecting this to be a problem. I know in theory that the focus of attachment parenting is making you feel, well, attached to your child. One of the articles I read described it as feeling like part of you was missing when you weren’t with the baby. But c’mon, it’s not like I’m a super over protective mom type. I’m the opposite of overprotective and cautious. I’m the kind of person who says stuff like “God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt” without a hint of irony. So what’s my problem with letting someone else watch the baby shove inappropriate things in his mouth?

My problem is no one else HAS ever watched him. We don’t have any family nearby to “practice” babysitting to see how Baby Evan handles being in the care of someone other than his parents. When I was about 16, I babysat for the neighbor’s infant. Who cried. THE. WHOLE. TIME. I told them never to call me again and swore I’d never have children (yeah, I said a lot of things when I was 16). I don’t want to traumatize someone that way. But is it just going to get worse if I don’t? My fear is I’m going to be the mom at the first day of kindergarten who can’t walk out the door without prying her kid off her leg with a crowbar. Maybe I’ll just practice on my parents when they come to visit. They have to love me and Baby Evan anyway.

What do you mean pill bottles don’t make excellent rattles? And also chew toys?

The good parts.

Hobo baby lost a sock

Floor time is much more fun on the new rug

Whatevs, you couldn't afford anything in this Pottery Barn catalog anyways.

The ratio of toys to baby is about 100 to 1.

The dance we were doing to make him laugh totally deserved that smile.

Bro, check out my shoulder surfing skills and my bitchin necklace.

How in the world has the human race survived this long? I mean, you barely recover from giving birth soon enough to deal with sleep deprivation and sore nipples and just when the baby starts getting all cute and mobile and human-like, TEETHING STARTS. You want to prevent teen pregnancy? SEND ‘EM THIS WAY. I guarantee an hour with my baby and any teen’s knees with slam together so hard they’ll be limping for a month. I have no job, no pressing responsibilities (beyond keeping my child alive), no other kids to care for, no neighbors close enough to disturb if the baby screams and I am almost at the end of my rope. I cannot imagine what dealing with a teething baby would be like in a mud hut or a covered wagon or an 800 square foot apartment. If you have teeth, go kiss your mama right now.

By the time E got home from work yesterday I was lying on the floor of the nursery begging the baby to take a nap. I know E was secretly thinking “Geez woman pull yourself together, he’s not that bad” – until Baby started screaming his head off because someone smiled at him the wrong way or said his mama was funny looking. I wouldn’t blame E if he suddenly had to start “working late” so he would miss the afternoon meltdown. I would totally kill him, but I wouldn’t BLAME him.

The real problem is the child cannot make up his mind. Cutting just one tiny tooth has thrown any semblance of a schedule out the window. Two nights ago I was totally ready to throw in the co-sleeping towel because Baby Evan thrashed and tossed and nursed ALL NIGHT and I can’t deal with a cranky baby during the day without at least five hours of sleep. But then last night he slept from 9pm – 2am, nursed, and then went back to sleep until 5:30 am, still and quiet as a mouse. Unfortunately, GETTING him to sleep was a nightmare. I don’t think it counts as cry-it-out if E is holding him and rocking him and shushing him in the nursery…but the baby cried himself to sleep anyway. During the day he’s just as unpredictable. One minute Baby Evan wants to nurse non-stop and the next he thrashed and screams if I put him anywhere near a boob. I was not expecting engorgement to be a problem anymore but yeah, it is, AGAIN. One second he’s playing in his exersaucer happily and the next he’s screaming bloody murder. One minute the teether toy is his favorite thing ever until he sees me holding the remote and then he wants THAT RIGHT NOW INHISMOUTH GUMGUMGUMDROOOOOOOOL.

I wish there was a definitive answer as to how long teething lasts. It would really help me deal with this if I knew “OK, he’s horrible now but I only have two more weeks (or months) to go”. But the internet has very little to say on the subject, except that he has 20 teeth to get through and that the molars can be worse. WORSE. My heart actually stopped beating for a second.