A friend just had a baby.  Her name is Carmella.  I am one among millions of people who love a baby fresh out of the old cooker, except when they are mine then I’m a toddler kind of gal.  I appreciate a little give and take.  I like pretending to throw the ball.  I think it’s funny to act like I got knocked over by the pillow fifty-six times.  I like reading the same bedtime story night after night and having them still squeal with delight when the caterpillar becomes a butterfly.  I like sloppy kisses and enchanted oh’s.  I like hilarious stoic statements such as,

“My penis is a steel rod.”

(Don’t worry; I’m not affixing that quote to either of my children- way too embarrassing…but true).

It’s selfish I suppose.  You don’t get much from a baby when it’s yours.  I mean sure their ears are soft as rose petals and their breath smells like fresh washed sheets but besides that it’s pretty much eat sleep poop eat sleep poop and for some reason they can’t do any of the three when you want them too.

But today I watched a video of Carmella hiccuping and was at rapt attention.  Did my babies hiccup?  Did I notice?  Were they cute? I vaguely remember one resembled Yoda and the other Charlie Brown, so…. maybe not so cute.  But like I said, I can’t remember because I think I was too damn tired.  I don’t do tired well.
 
What I do remember is thinking,

“Seriously, like you just send me home now and this baby goes with me?  Is that a good idea?  For either of us?”

I also remember one endless night as I fed and fed Beau.  I walked and rocked and wondered why he wouldn’t eat.  Four hours later I found out I had left the inside cap on the bottle.  Baby had no milk but he had a heck of a lot of gas so let’s just say things got worse before they got better.

And I remember changing Donovan was like a pit stop at Nascar.  He loved his little bundled burrito shell blanket and whoa be to those who unwrapped it though he should have known diaper changing couldn’t be achieved by osmosis. 
Put baby down, unroll burrito as quickly as possible causing vertigo, rip apart tape, take off some flesh, crying ensues.  Crying continues, swab down bottom with freezing cold wipe.  Wipe, wipe, wipe, sweat drips from brow, screams rip your heart out, the neighbors call Child Welfare.  Baby sticks sock in poop, change socks, change diaper, stick chicken legs back in sleeper, which is like putting stockings on a pig. 

It’s like we thought the kid was going to expire after one good wail.

With Carmella I’m like la deed da, give her to me.

It’s because of a little thing we like to call perspective.  When you’re not dog tired and caught in the endless sleepless cycle the little thing is no longer a pooping , eating, sleeping machine but a beautiful little blessing just fresh from the oven; with a bunch of greedy baby hands grabbing at her. 

I’d cry too.  And then I’d poop and sleep and eat and cry and sleep….