Week 18 Day 2: The world is poison

Gavin woke up with crib paint all over his face today. Well, I mean, he didn't wake up that way. The crib paint transfer didn't happen while he was sleeping. It happened  either right before or right after his nap while he was standing in his crib crying (this would be before) or hollering (this would be after) for me.

So that's awesome. Sure hope it's lead-based. (This is sarcasm).

Our big outting today was to Babies R Us to buy a teething rail for his crib. Not that his crib lacks a teething rail. It just doesn't have one that's up for the challenge of my gnaw-happy son. Gavin managed to chew right under the rail using his two bottom row center chompers. So hopefully this gummy rail thing will work.

We also opened Babies R Us today. If that's the right term. Gate crashed, maybe? What I mean is that they open at 10 a.m. and we were there at 9:53 a.m. And there was a line. At least a half dozen other cars were there before us and there were two ladies standing in front of the door. Most of the grown-ups there had kids, which isn't surprising. After all, as my mom used to say, "Kids get up before God." When you've been up since a quarter to six, 10 a.m. feels like noon.

Our next mission was to find Mother's Day cards. This was a bust. I don't know what's wrong with the card makers of the world, but I can't find a Mother's Day card that isn't either super sappy (you're the most precious mother and the day I was pulled out of your vagina/Cesarean incision was a day I was blessed by God), completely inane (Mom, you're great. Here's a picture of a giraffe), or sexist (all moms want are shoes and someone else to do the laundry for a day). I know, I know, I could just make my own. But is it really too much to ask to have Mother's Day cards available for purchase that I would not be ashamed to give even to my Grandma Helen who uses the free Easter cards she gets from soliciting religious charities for any and all occasions?

I keep marveling at the fact that Gavin will turn a year old in July. That just doesn't seem possible. I was just looking at photos a friend posted of her new baby girl on Facebook and thinking, "That was Gavin over 9 months ago." He was so spindly then compared to now. I mean, he was always a very healthy baby size-wise. But looking back at old pictures of him he looks so tiny. Like in this picture where he's showing off his skinny monkey feet, which have become chunky bear feet. Over the weekend Stacy and I visited other friends who have a three-week-old girl. She made some of the same little cooing sounds Gavin used to make. He made a lot of owl sounds. And trumpet sounds. Sounds he is unlikely to ever make again. He also used to fall asleep on my chest. His little body splayed out on top of me with me on my back. We'd both fall asleep this way sometimes, especially if he was having a hard time getting to sleep. Another thing that will never happen again.

And yet unlike some of my friends who reported a strong desire for another baby baby after theirs transitioned from baby to toddler, I have no such desire. I loved, loved, loved Wee Gavin just as much as I love Little Gavin and as much as I am sure I'll love Big Gavin and Mega Gavin and Lumberjack Gavin to come. I recognize that this baby feeling isn't the only reason people have second (or third, or fourth, or, if insane like my parents, fifth) child. Most people do it for tax purposes. I get that. Still, the prospect of having another baby while Gavin is so young -- in other words, turning around and doing it all over again before the first is even out of diapers -- does not appeal to me.

I just finished this book called Beyond One: Growing a Family and Getting a Life by Jennifer Bingham Hull. Basically she makes it sound like having two kids is hell on earth, but she also implies throughout that it is also maybe a love fest in ways. But mostly hell (is what I got out of it, though she never says she wishes her youngest was gone or anything and definitely seems to love both of her girls very much). Hull also mentions that having two kids under the age of four is one of the biggest stresses on a couple's marriage. The one sentence in the entire book that most stood out for me was, "God, no wonder Sylvia Plath committed suicide: her kids were one and three." So, yeah.

Gavin deserves a World's Best Baby Award for today. I had cramps all day long and by the time we made it home from our big outting I was one sad Mama bastard. I plopped Gavin into his Baby Fun Jail and collapsed on the couch. He just played quietly by himself. Occasionally I'd look up to see him peering at me over the rail of his pen like, "Are you going to die, Mommy?" But I didn't die. And Gavin's patience held off long enough for pain meds to kick in so that I could be a mom again.

I forgot to mention this yesterday: Fuck you, Tylenol. Assholes. I love that we have some of the infant drops on the recall list that we've been giving to Gavin since he was born. It's almost empty, thank God, because I'd hate for defective/contaminated/fucked up medicine to go to waste. Looks like I'm going to have to start making my own Tylenol now. Whiskey and a wash cloth. Great for easing teething pain. (Note to Social Services: that is just a joke.)

Is it too much to ask that products made for babies are made specifically not to kill babies? Not that I want stronger consumer product protection in this country or anything. I mean, that would be totally socialist. The free market will kill babies correct itself. For a good time check out CPSC's recall list. Always good for a laugh. Remember, death and dismemberment is around every corner. Now go to sleep.