Playing catch up and posting some older stuff.
The guy at Starbucks just asked why the baby in the back seat was crying, and I said “I don’t know, he is just being a dick.” Which got a weird nervous look from the barista. Yes he is cute and I love him like crazy and all but seriously, babies can be dicks. after feeding, burping and changing his diaper before leaving the house to “run” to the store Wyatt has a total meltdown 3 blocks from the house. Luckily I am wicked smart and brought a bottle despite this being a quick trip. So now we are sitting in the parking lot, Wyatt is having his bottle and I am giving in to emotional eating and polishing off a bag of chocolate covered pretzels
Wyatt’s favorite place to poop is his vibrating rocking chair, gets things moving every time! All he needs is a magazine and a bottle cozy
My husband and I have decided that when Wyatt is 16 we are going to burst into his room every 1.5 hours at night and start screaming and then grunt and take a dump in the corner of his room. Payback is a bitch kid 🙂
Lullaby versions of Dust in the Wind and Don’t Stop Believing? Yep, that’s how we rock nap time here at the Field house!
Our new tenant has completely taken over our house. Yep, that’s right, there are 4 large baby entertainment (aka anti mommy meltdown, anything that lets me pee without a baby in my arms) things in one room. Our tenant also decorates with burp cloths, wipes, teething rings, breast pads (not to be confused as coasters), and a nice aromatic poopy smell. he doesn’t even pay rent! And he just made a sound like a giant bong hit in his pants while staring at me….gotta go
My name is Wyatt and I’m a milkaholic. (Chorus of babies: “hi Wyatt”). I passed out mid-gulp again. When I woke up I had peed all over myself a was laying there naked in a chair that made the room feel like it was rocking back and forth.
I’m sick of labels. “Attachment parenting”, “baby lead weaning” “sleep training”. How about “surviving”? As in, “I’m simply reacting and it’s a good day if I leave the house with pants on and my boobs covered.” Yes I’ve read a ton of books, is ANY of that in my brain when it’s 2:30am and I am getting up for the 3rd time in an hour? Nope. So maybe some (most) nights I don’t really remember how or when I gave up and brought the baby to bed. Yes that is probably a breast pad stuck to his forehead. It’s called parenting. That’s it. No crazy well laid out plans in my head while I go throughout my day, it’s just doing what needs to be done. Maybe he will need a few extra hours of therapy when he’s grown, no biggie. I’ve started a Wyatt’s therapy savings plan instead of a college savings plan. He can tell them about how instead of lullabies I sang “bringing sexy back” because I know more of the words.
Balls are ridiculous. Especially when trying to clean up after major diaper blowouts. It’s like trying to delicately clean an old shriveled balloon