Some day, Baby. Some day.

For reasons unknown to me, family members enjoy offering Baby Joseph food and laughing at his complete disinterest in this strange multi-colored stuff we’re putting in our mouths.

My youngest daughter said to him in her high-pitched little voice, “You want chips and salsa, Joe? You want some beer?” (Please note that she was consuming neither.)

But the goofiness doesn’t end there. My oldest spilled dry Rice Krispies on the floor. Did she sweep them up right away? No. She brought out

One month down

So, Little Man is one month old today. That leaves two months of the so-called “fourth trimester.”

I get it. I remember when my last child was a baby repeating to myself, Just get to three months. Things will be better after three months.

I’ve also heard this time referred to as the 90 Days of Darkness.

There are good days and bad days. Likewise with the nights. The hard part is, it’s never the same from one day or night to the next. Of course, if they were all bad, I’d not like that much at all. The point is,

Everyone needs to pull her weight. Or eat her weight.

“Snap, crackle, pop”? More like “Crunch, crunch, crunch” as they’re stepped on.

I told my six and four-year-old girls that, no, they cannot open that new box of cereal they want until they finish some of the plethora of nearly finished cereal boxes we already have. They agreed and began eating some of the old cereal without complaint, so I walked away to get some work done.

After a while I decided it had gotten rather quiet in the kitchen. Too quiet.

Lord, let me blend in with the wall!

St. Peter’s Basilica at Early Morning (Photo credit: Wikipedia) P.S. This wasn’t the church I was at!

When my youngest was born, she made her first church appearance just a few days later. Being understandably tired, we didn’t make it to our usual Mass, but went to an 11:00 a.m. at a church I’m not as familiar with. The baby slept wonderfully through Mass until just before the end. When she began to cry, I picked her up and looked around for a private hidey-hole in which to discreetly feed her. Then I spotted a folding  chair in a dark corner, far from any people. Perfect!

A minute later, Mass was over and I soon discovered a crucial architectural structure that I had previously overlooked:

Don’t read this one if you’ve just eaten.

With our fifth child, I stopped carrying a diaper bag around. I just stuff a diaper and a baggie of wipes in my purse. The problem with this is that I have only one diaper and if I use it, I sometimes forget to refill my purse before leaving again.

Well, this time we were at our cabin for the last time this summer and were eating out at a local restaurant. Andrew had eaten corn out of a can earlier that day and a lot of something else I can’t remember. We were all sitting down enjoying our burgers when Andrew ripped a loud one. For some reason I didn’t think anything of it; we just snickered a little bit and finished our meal.

How to tell if you’re a mom, Part 2

The Pacifier (Photo credit: adwriter)

Writhing and screaming in a hospital room is ultimately your idea of a good time.

You often hit the bottle late at night, but it has nothing to do with alcohol.

Somewhere in your home there is a pail filled with carefully wrapped human waste.

You are morally offended if anyone says something contrary to your beliefs regarding vaccines, breast feeding, or pacifiers.

You are an expert at nursing, but you never wear scrubs.

Trust me. I know what I’m doing.

Picture (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My sister-in-law was in the hospital after having delivered her first baby. Her husband, a macho, manly type, was going to change the baby’s diaper. He’d never done this before, so she, from her bed, was giving some instructions.

 “Move quickly. Make sure you have something to cover him up so he doesn’t pee on you. Have the clean diaper all ready to go.”

Not wanting to hear it, he told her that he could handle changing a diaper, and it was just a baby, and “I know what I’m doing, okay?”

So there he was, changing this tiny diaper on this tiny baby in the little plastic bin they keep babies in at the hospital. While he’s trying to figure out the diaper, that baby

One of your headlights is out.

I was at a Bible study with my church group, which is normally all women. This one particular day, someone’s husband decided to come along and was seated across from me. I had my newborn baby with me, and when she got fussy, I excused myself to nurse her. When I returned to my seat, I noticed the man staring at my chest with a somewhat confused and bewildered expression. I was rather put off by this, but when I looked down, I understood.

A cleaning lady’s nightmare

My twin boys were nine weeks old when my husband and I took a trip to visit my grandmother. One night, when we were staying in a hotel, I began to change a poopy diaper on the bed. Not thinking, I didn’t lay a clean diaper under the dirty one, and my son

She was clearly never a Boy Scout

I don’t even like carrying a purse, so a diaper bag was pretty much out of the question when I went to visit the parents of an old boyfriend with my newborn son. Naturally he decided to have a megapoop–out the sides of the diaper, all over himself, and me. I had nothing with me,