The Curse of the Good Baby

I already took a gamble with the title, but if you are reading this, then I can only assume that you are: a. intrigued b. have a good baby yourself or c. my own mother. I will start off by saying how blessed I am. Everyone prays for health, happiness and a “good baby”. What does this really mean? Sleeps through the night, doesn’t cry with unfamiliar people, is flexible, naps well, and is genuinely happy. I can check all those boxes. Did I mention she has one dimple? (I sincerely apologize to all the brand new moms. If I came across this at 1 month, I literally would have screamed while throwing a pacifier and you can too, but that's only because you are no longer familiar with R.E.M. sleep. Let's chat again in a few months). Now that your eyes have glazed over, I am going to tell you why this is a curse. After the good baby, there is no direction to go but down. Any future siblings will have to compete with the wonderment that is Charlotte. This is the hard battle I must fight, but I will prevail.

She even smiles for the camera.

My best friend was also blessed with the curse, and while she was pregnant with her second she would have people on the street tell her how difficult her next baby would be. Oh you won’t get another one that sleeps through the night. There are no boundaries when it comes to how people talk to pregnant women; inappropriate reaches new heights; rivaled only by how people talk to new parents. Whenever I tell others about my good baby they proceed to tell me how challenging one of their children was with colic or chronic diaper rash. I’m not sure if this is because they are waiting for me to give them a high five for powering through it or if they are just looking for a hug. However, I am aware that babies can be tough. Even good babies have their moments; like when Charlotte hits an octave that makes Macie howl and I haven’t yet had a cup of coffee. To my last remaining reader (hi mom): no baby fits perfectly into any one category and yet they each provide enough joy to last a lifetime. In parenthood you will see the good, the bad, and the ugly, so be prepared. At some point your baby will be good, the diapers will be bad, and the stink eye you give someone when they tell you to enjoy it now since she will give you all kinds of trouble in her teen years, should most definitely be ugly. 

The Land of the Flakes

It doesn’t really matter if you were healthy, punctual, and dependable before you became a parent because your baby will make you sick, chronically tardy, and the world’s biggest flake. These traits are generally forgiven by other people with children, but completely lost on those who are not yet on the baby bus, and by bus I mean sport utility minivan. The only thing you can 100% count on is that you will eventually send a text message out into the universe that says, “I’m sorry we are not going to make it.”

We were supposed to go to South Lake Tahoe this weekend for my birthday. Due to the "storm" we decided to not risk driving in the snow and canceled our trip on Wednesday. So incredibly, it was not Charlotte causing us to change our plans, but Mother Nature. However, if we weren’t parents, we would probably say to hell with it and go anyway. So I could legitimately direct some blame her way, but that’s a dangerous thread to pull at since I’ve only just forgiven her for contractions. Generally speaking there is always a lesson to be learned in parenting, and as annoying and Dr. Seuss-like as that may sound, it’s true. My new motto has become, “Well, what are you going to do?” Those who are completely rigid and structured as parents probably struggle with that concept, and I'd introduce you to them, but they are undoubtedly too busy editing my blog for typos and checking their baby’s diaper for their 8am poop. I'm pretty sure that irritatingly catchy song from Frozen, "Let it Go" is directed at you guys. Sometimes things don’t work out as expected and we need to make adjustments, as the child needs dictate. The parents I’ve seen having the hardest time are those that expect the baby to be flexible around their lives. The only thing flexible about babies is their soft spot, and just like the bear that sleep deprived moms turn into, don’t poke it.

Who are you calling inflexible? 

Rhymes with 30

My husband and I went to dinner and a movie on my 30th birthday, which is exactly what I wanted. There in the movie theater bathroom was a group of teenagers glistening in awkwardness, engrossed in a Taylor Swift sized problem:

The movie got out earlier than I thought. My dad is not coming to get us until 10.

My mom can totally give you a ride.

I wish we could have a sleepover.

I made eye contact with the tallest girl in the group while I washed my hands and smiled. She has no idea, but I was her a week ago. Or at least it feels that way. I whispered to my husband during the Pitch Perfect 2 trailer when Rebel Wilson winked at a frat boy and hinted that he would get lucky later, Charlotte is never watching movies like that. Possibly for the crude sexual overtones, but mostly because musical comedies are just a gateway to dance comedies and we all know that those lead to hardcore street drugs.

I don’t know how I can be raising a child when I still feel like one. Maybe the only way is to always feel young at heart. I’m comfortable with the type of grown up that I am: I only buy chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and my favorite pair of jeans are jeggings. I tried to find funny ecards about turning 30 but they were all so damn depressing. I’d like to make one that says: Hey, I’m precisely where I want to be at 30, I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. Perhaps with a passive-aggressive smiley face. I’m not mourning the loss of my 20s and I have absolutely no urge to take up knitting or cut bangs. Charlotte’s squeals of delight are much too loud to hear a biological clock ticking. So forget the “Dirty 30” clichés, pre-midlife crisis, and 30 is the new 20 nonsense; I am going to revel in the fact that I’m old enough now to just be happy.