On Friday I had my first experience with projectile vomit. Now I understand what the doctor meant when I kept bringing in my infant saying, “He’s throwing up! There’s something wrong!” and the pediatrician kept saying “No no no, that’s nothing. Trust me, you’ll know.” AND NOW I KNOW. Boy do I know. And since I would like to keep all my lovely readers, I won’t even tell you about the diapers. Let’s just say whatever bug is inside my poor little munchkin his body REALLY wants it out.

Since Baby Evan is still on uncertain terms with the sippy cup, I spent most of Saturday trying to force liquids down his throat.  He doesn’t like nursing when he’s sick (which I think is ridiculously ironic – isn’t the whole point of nursing that it’s supposed to be comforting?) so he’s not getting much of anything in his system. I’m terrified he’s going to get dehydrated and end up in the hospital where the doctors will all frown at me and say “What do you mean he doesn’t eat food? What do you mean he doesn’t take a bottle? You can’t possibly have nursed him every feeding for the last 10 months.” Because even I will admit that sounds a little crazy. True, but crazy. Plus I haven’t yet figured out how to get Pedialyte into my boobs so the best I can do for a vomiting baby is a little juice in a sippy of water and hope he accidentally swallows some of it while he chews on it. He’s still having wet diapers so I’m not panicked yet but if things don’t improve by tomorrow morning I’ll have to make an appointment.

In true motherhood fashion, just when the baby starts feeling better I get catch the same horrible germs. Again, I’ll do you a favor by skipping specifics but lets just say the symptoms might be even more unpleasant in a non-diaper wearing adult. I managed to wait until the babe was asleep before collapsing in a miserable, feverish heap Saturday night but just barely. My temperature fluctuated so much I felt like a Katy Perry song, first lying on the floor in my bra complaining I was burning up and then huddling under the blankets begging E to turn up the heat. I spent most of the night lying on the bathroom floor because the cold felt good on my face (uh, and also so I could throw up in a more appropriate place than the kitchen).  A whole Sunday of misery brings me to this morning, where I’m getting by on a diet of Mountain Dew and several gallons of water, trying to stay awake while I watch the baby torture pet the cat.  My parenting today is going to be more “keep the baby alive” and less “stimulate his mind and development”, but I’m ok with that. Even Super Moms need sick days.

Last night I sent the following tweet:

The picture is of a delicious Blue Moon complete with orange slice. And nowhere near that beer was a baby. In fact, there were ZERO babies in the whole bar. Instead, five other mamas and I ate nachos and onion straws and buffalo wings and chips and spinach artichoke dip and did I mention the BEER? And the mojitos? And the margarita? It was a momentous occasion. (Actual conversation as I was leaving – Me: “This was AMAZING!” Amy: “You should blog about it.” Me: “OH I TOTALLY WILL.”) It may have only lasted an hour and a half and I may have left early because E had to go back into work but that didn’t stop me from wearing a REAL BRA AND DANGLY EARRINGS. Do you know how long it’s been since I could wear dangly earrings without worrying about having my earlobe torn in two by sticky, grabby, baby hands? I’m only sad I didn’t stay long enough to order a giant chocolate dessert and eat it all by myself.

It’s just so amazing to have girlfriends. Women friends. Mom friends who understand what it’s like to never sleep through the night and talk about poop without wincing and break out their phones to show off baby photos faster than you can say “stretch marks”. I actually feel sort of sorry for E because although he gets to go to work every day and spend baby-free time with grown ups he can’t be having nearly as much fun as I had in that 90 minutes last night. I need to work on getting some of these moms together as couples so maybe he can meet some dad friends. Although I doubt they’ll talk about poop quite as much.

Since I already had knitting group on Wednesday night this was actually the second time in a week I left E to deal with bedtime. It’s a good time of day to put him in charge since E’s always done bathtime, pajamas and rocked Baby Evan to sleep. The only thing I miss is the last bedtime feeding, which Baby Evan usually makes up for around midnight. E doesn’t seem to mind being left alone since he can play all the computer games he wants without a wife looking over his shoulder or trying to talk about her day or her feelings or some other crap like that. The next step will be hiring someone to come over at 7 pm and sit on our couch to watch TV while Baby Evan sleeps and BOTH of us get to go to a bar. It’s taken almost 10 months but I finally feel ready. Amen.

Can someone PLEASE help me explain to my husband how hard and exhausting and exactly like a job taking care of a baby is? How although on the surface it might look a lot easier than driving to an office every day, in the end you get to leave an office but you never get to leave a baby? And how even if you don’t really, truly, 100% believe that being a stay at home mom is work it is NEVER a good idea to accuse your wife of “playing” all day while you’re at your Real Job? And not just because when you say shit like that your wife might storm out of the house and leave you dinner-less, but because it really hurts her and makes her feel useless and unappreciated? Yes, please help me explain that.

(Sidenote for fairness: in my uncompleted posts queue right now is an entry about how awesome E was during The Great Sickness of 2009 and our holiday travels. He slept with the can’t-put-him-down-or-he-screams baby almost every night and did at least 50% of the daytime comforting. He’s also helping with the night weaning, which proves he cares about my sanity at least a little, as it doesn’t matter to HIM if the baby nurses all night. But yesterday I did not care about any of that.)

From the point of view of someone who doesn’t have kids, my day looks easy. Get up, eat breakfast, workout class, hang out with friends, lunch, some housework, errands, computer time, start dinner, serve dinner, clean up kitchen, watch some tv, do a little knitting and then bed. Yawn, a life of leisure.

But when you do all that stuff with a baby it looks like this: Up at 6 am with baby, nurse baby, change baby, dress baby, make sure baby is occupied long enough to go pee, rescue dog from baby, run upstairs to brush teeth and put on clothes, clean up baby spit up, get the baby a snack, clean up snack, clean up baby, change baby, eat an apple, nurse baby, get baby and all baby’s stuff in the car, take baby to baby-themed stroller workout class, take baby to breastfeeding group, entertain baby while trying to have adult conversation, put baby back in car, take baby home, try to get baby to nap, nurse baby, rock baby, nurse baby, baby falls asleep, jump in shower, start laundry, finally find something to eat…and that’s just before noon. I could keep going but I’m trying to finish this post before the baby wakes up from his nap. As you can see, baby-free time is precious around here.

Now from E’s point of view, at least 70% of that “work” is my own fault. I don’t HAVE to go to Stroller Strides. I don’t HAVE to go to breastfeeding group. I don’t HAVE to go to the store with the baby. I can stay home. I can run errands on the weekends. I could, quite easily, never leave the house. Like, duh, that’s why pizza delivery was invented. I could also quite easily go TOTALLY FRICKIN INSANE and end up babbling incomprehensibly about poopoo and diapeys and numnums and nappy naps. I’ve already used all those words at least once this week. The edge is near.

It doesn’t help my case that on the weekends I try to give myself as much time off as possible, so E sees me sitting on the couch while the baby naps and imagines that’s how I spend all my days. Never mind the clean socks in his drawer and the toys in the toy box and the milk in the fridge and the food on the table. Never mind the baby is dressed and fed and happy. Never mind my lack of a full night’s sleep for the last 9 months. Obviously if I have time to knit a sock mitten wrist warmer AND maintain a blog, taking care of a baby is cake. And since our not-ever-officially-negotiated-but-status-quo relationship is I’m in charge of the household, why should he have to do more work after his Real Job is done? What do I mean I can’t unload the dishwasher and watch the baby at the same time?

I know I have friends and readers who are thinking to themselves RIGHT NOW that I got myself into this and it’s really my fault for having such an old-fashioned, gender-stereotypical marriage. You’re thinking you’re way too smart to marry a guy who doesn’t have a truly feminist and shared view of parenting so you won’t ever feel like this. And I hope you’re right. But I think every parent in every kind of relationship ends up feeling unappreciated at some point, be it every day of their marriage or just for a few hours once in a while.

The hardest part of this whole thing is sometimes I feel like I DON’T do enough. I feel like since I don’t earn a paycheck I need to earn the right to stay home. I feel like dishes in the sink or unfolded laundry or a funny smell coming from the living room (which turned out to be BURNT CAT VOMIT from where the cat threw up on a radiator) are big black marks against me in my Wife & Mother Weekly Performance Review. I mean, there are moms who have three kids and a real job and a house and a dog and still manage to make organic, homegrown, vegetarian lasagna every night with time left over to volunteer at the soup kitchen. I definitely don’t work as hard as that mom. I don’t want to work as hard as that mom. I want to be happy. I just want to be happy.

Last night I was having a lovely talk with an old high school friend when he mentioned someone we used to know was teaching college while working on her doctorate. While also raising two daughters. By herself. Now, this is someone I remember best as getting in trouble for sneaking her boyfriend INTO her house after getting grounded for sneaking OUT of her house. Our deepest conversation ever was a lesson in visible panty lines. And did I mention she’s younger than I am? The whole situation just made me feel like I was staring at a giant sign that says “Welcome to Inadequacyville! Population: YOU”.

No matter how much I love being a mom – especially a stay at home mom – it just doesn’t feel like an accomplishment. You don’t have to be smart to have a baby. In fact, stupidity really seems to work in reproduction’s favor COUGH16andpregnantCOUGH. Sure it may be hard to be a GOOD mom but you don’t get any fancy letters after your name for the three hours you spent caring for a sick baby last night or your infinite patience cleaning up spit-up or the pain you went through for the sake of breastfeeding. Ok SURE you get a happy, (mostly) healthy, well-adjusted child but the only people who really appreciate that are their teachers, future spouse and the person who sits next to them at work some day. Blah. Would anyone even notice if all I wrote for the rest of this post is whine whine whine complain complain so ungrateful for all I have annoying self absorption whine whine whiiiine?

This is why the only people who look forward to their high school reunions are Bill Gates and Barack Obama.

On Tuesday I had my 6 months post-6 week postpartum lady doctor appointment (got that?) at 8:50 am.* Since I a)didn’t plan far enough ahead to ask someone to watch him and b)didn’t want to ask E to take a day off just for a 20 minute appointment (and also c)still can’t won’t don’t want to  leave an unfeedable and possibly separation anxiety suffering baby with anyone) I brought Baby Evan with me.

I didn’t really have a plan as far as how holding a baby during a pelvic exam was going to work, but I figured worse came to worst I could always just set him on the floor and slather him with Purell afterwards. The nurse who called me in for my height and weight seemed a little annoyed that I didn’t have a stroller but another nurse passing by volunteered to hold him. (Pet peeve of the day: when the nurse was taking my weight, she slid the little slidey things but didn’t wait for the bar to stop tipping before writing something down. Listen lady, five pounds may not mean much to you but it does to me!)

Once we got in the exam room I managed to put on the gown while holding Baby Evan in a chair with my foot. All those years of gymnastics and dance classes are finally paying off! But as soon as we settled down to wait the screaming started. The baby was having none of that room and wanted everyone in the building to know about it. It was COLD and BORING and OH SO LONELY and I was MEAN for taking him there!  You think listening to a crying baby in public is annoying? 99% of the time that kid’s mother is ten seconds away from whistling The Star-Spangled Banner and jumping on one leg while shoving a spoon through her eye in hopes the baby might think it’s funny and shut up.

Luckily, before I could start sticking tongue depressors up my nose my doctor came in and volunteered to have a nurse hold Baby Evan during the exam. When I explained he was only screaming because I was keeping him from getting the attention he knew he deserved, she said “Well, then let’s get him some” and whisked him off to reception. I tried to apologize for bringing my baby to my appointment but she brushed me off and said she had been a stay at home mom for years and had had many haircuts while holding a child in her lap.

When we were done and I decided it would be better not to “accidentally” leave my baby at the office for a few more hours, I discovered the decision might be out of my hands – they’d already hired him. Baby Evan was sitting in someone’s lap at the front desk greeting new patients with a “haaaaaiiiii” and trying to help by shoving insurance forms in his mouth and banging on a keyboard. I like to think he was protesting the high co-pays and ridiculous bureaucracy of health care today.

I realize the whole situation makes me kind of a jerk. Showing up with a baby, not being able to keep the baby quiet, passing the baby off on strangers who aren’t being paid to watch him…before I became a mother I would have been horrified to inconvenience anyone that much. But once you have kids you do all sorts of things you never thought you would (charting poop colors anyone? learning all the verses of Hush Little Baby? the mom-spit face cleaning rub?) and sometimes people are going to think you’re a jerk. It’s probably best to just acknowledge it.

*I am officially not pregnant (E: Uh,were we afraid you might be?) but my doctor says I can go ahead and start planning the next one. I said maybe when Baby Evan is a year old, she said if I didn’t refill my mini-pill it would be sooner than I wanted. I said don’t worry I’m still breastfeeding and she said she had a whole photo album full of second children who were conceived that way and she’d see me in a few months.