I’ve got you babe (or maybe I’ve already embarrassed you baby?)

Tiny mittens? Check. Onesies with little hearts and self-referential sayings? Check. Diapers that fit on a bottom so teensy it can only be classified as adorable (well, until it unleashes it’s fury)? Check. Butt wipe warmer? Hell-to-the-no. Regardless of what the baby registry book handed out by the baby retailers says, if That Girl ends up perched on a bell tower I am fairly certain it won’t be because I used cold wipes to spick and span her arse. Then again, this is my first go at parenting and I could totally be wrong. Guard yourselves world.

The nursery is just about complete…

This is the baby palace that we have resisted turning into a plastic bubble... and lo the resistance was tough for one of us

We are just waiting for her bedding set to come off of backorder and actually arrive, but there again I don’t think her dust ruffle (or current lack thereof) will impede her development. Sure, the bedding will make it look all catalog-like, and somehow will make me feel a little closer to a fit mother, but that’s my deal.

With less than six weeks to go, we have outfitted the Meiners Manse with all the basics that we think Baby Monkey will need during her first few months with us… and if she really needs more we may strongly consider sending her back to whence she came. (Nice how I can whip out that infamous mother’s threat without batting a lash before she is even born, eh?)

We tried our hardest to make sure that it was just the essentials, ma’am. Instead of the super-swing-play-mobile-fun-town we picked up a simple travel swing- yes it has 5 speeds, but it isn’t so high-tech (or so crunk like a Toyota) that it can operate on it’s own. We passed on the changing table for a dresser with a changing pad on top. And I finally convinced The Mister that having a full-video baby monitor with infra-red technology, a dehumidifier, a humidifier, and an air purifier might be a bit of an overkill… and really creepy in a 1984 but with babies way. So he finally agreed to a simple audio monitor for when we are downstairs and she is sleeping, and picking up a $20 humidifier only if the doctor suggests when she gets her first sniffles.

All the marketing would suggest I am setting That Girl up for failure by not having a high chair that also teaches her sign language and plays show tunes every time she takes a dump, but I have to remain positive here. There are a few things that I think will make me a decent mom- while debatable, this is what helps me sleep at night.

  1. I don’t wear sweatpants out, and I don’t even own a pink velour sweatsuit.
  2. If I were to ever buy a minivan it would be because I am planning to turn it into an ironic, road-worthy drag racer.
  3. Chelsea Handler is funny in my opinion.
  4. I will not wear “mom jeans” under any circumstances. I plan to go from jeans and cute tops to gaudy jewelry and grandma muumuus when the age is appropriate (probably after she starts having her own children). I pledge that I will not dress like a country-craft-fair lady, and I will never buy a holiday themed knit sweater for any purpose other than a costume.

On the flip-side, I already have an inkling of how I am going to be sooooo embarrassing, too.

  1. I do not plan to retire my Facebook account- and yes, I will write on her wall all.the.time. (It will keep her from posting drunken pictures at the very least, right?)
  2. My Twilight obsession. It’s not going anywhere, and neither is her Team Edward pacifier.
  3. I am completely convinced that my dog and I have two-way communication, and we often sing songs together.

Looks like she is one lucky baby since the good list outweighs the bad… and no, I am not biased. Maybe by the time she is old enough to get all angsty they will have invented some type of invisibility cloak for moms that only reveals them when they aren’t being embarrassing. Look at how far baby technology has come, right?

But you’ll never sleep again!

Told ya I was pregnant...

I have pouted on here plenty of times about the things you don’t hear about when people want you to get knocked up. There is, however, one of thing people lurve to talk about- how little sleep your going to get for the rest of your ever loving life. I have heard it almost as many times as people have said congratulations, or questions me about what kind of kid I am having (answer: human, girl).

Don’t get me wrong, I have been tired ever since my third trimester hit me (like a ton of sleepy, chubby bricks). In fact, I may or may not have slept for 20 hours recently, waking only long enough to eat and check my email every four hours. I think I am learning a little something about this “tired” thing. But, anyone who has ever raised themselves an infant would be completely offended by my claiming any kind of knowledge of tired.

However, I remember surviving quite swimmingly on four hours of sleep. In fact, I fondly remember burning the candle at both ends on four hours of drunk people sleep- which we all know is the worst kind of sleep a person can get. And it wasn’t even that long ago. Getting up for class with the smell of stale smoke, fries and vodka permeating not only my breath, hair and clothing, but a measurable amount of air space surrounding me. Dragging my hungover butt to class. Eating cheese filled bread sticks and sucking down my weight in espresso during class breaks. Working, studying, then off to grab drinks and dinner with friends again. The cycle repeats. Four hours was a lucky stretch sometimes.

Aren’t I just replacing the smell of cigarettes, booze and fried food with the varying smells of diapers, baby powder and milk? And isn’t the quality of my rest going to be at least a teensy-bit better since I won’t be sleeping under the influence? I have to be missing something when those parents are laughing and lauding the sleeplessness that awaits me, since, you know, ‘I don’t even know what tired is yet.’

It seems a badge of honor that parents have bestowed upon themselves- this not sleeping and all thing- so I have refrained from questioning. But I do hope that Baby Monkey Meiners is as much a fan of late night dance parties and crappy nighttime television as I was in college because we evidently have lots of those in store for us. How else are we going to fill all of those sleepless hours, right?