Every Monday night Gary and I go to his friend's house for Monday Movie Night. This has been a tradition for Gary and his friend Ashley since - well, before I was around, and who am I to mess with tradition?
But since the birth of Ashley and her partner's first child, we no longer watch movies and have settled into a comfortable routine of dinner, two episodes of the hit Canadian makeover show "Style by Jury" (we don't have cable! Indulge us!) and one or two episodes of The Sopranos.
Baby Jillian is going to be so well adjusted and informed about any number of things, not limited to mobsters, the F-bomb, strippers, drug trade and FBI code names. (I kid- I'm sure we'll stop watching when the kid can actually understand what's going on, or gets to that super-cute repeats everything she hears phase)
(Token cute photo of Baby J and Gary. It's the only one we've got, she was 1 week old at the time)
(Ok, it's the only one of Baby J that we've got that doesn't also feature yours truly and a bottle of cold Canadian beer)
Lately the tot has been having a bit of a rough go. She's 2 months old, and just learning to deal with the injustices of living on earth. Ennui, angst and taco envy have set in. Along with lactose intolerance. And that thing babies get that makes them cranky all the time- colic? Cholera? Eh. Whatever.
This week was no exception. Baby J cried for about an hour straight until she finally fell asleep. I'd like to think I helped with that, as I was the lucky bottle-holder and burper immediately before she entered dreamland. But just as I finished devouring my second taco (note to self: one pound of ground chuck does not enough tacos for 4 hungry adults make), a loud wail was emitted from the direction of the baby.
I sprung into action.
This caused both parents and my boyfriend to chuckle heartily and comment that "Megan just can't wait to be a mommy!"
Now, I will admit that I have a titch of the bebe fever, but mostly the "I like to hang around them because they are cute, but also like to go home and soothe my raggard senses with vodka after the playdate is over" variety. I am not, under any circumstances, ready to be or "just can't wait"ing to be a Mommy.
And this is where one of the true lessons of womanhood became abundantly clear to me.
Only a mother is capable of ignoring a wailing, screeching child. Anyone else, particularly one equipped with her very own uterus, is forced to awkwardly jump into "Ohmygodit'scryingwhatthehelliswrong!" mode.
Moms can tell. Moms can understand babyese. "I'm hungry" cries versus "I'm in extreme pain" versus "My world is crumbling and I have stopped breathing!!" cries.
I, an innocent, 25 year old female bystander, cannot. Any whimper to my ears sounds like impending doom. SIDS! Choking hazards! Modern pop music! SIDS!! I am constantly raging with adrenaline and fear around babies.
And, to top it all off, as one of my co-patriots (albeit fictional) so eloquently said (and I so haphazardly paraphrased):
What's with the soft spot?! If they are going to come with a self-destruct button, at least hide it!
2 days ago