You guys know I give my husband a lot of crap. Like a lot. Okay, I could probably link almost every post I’ve written, because I weave some kind of subtle (or not-so-subtle) dig into nearly every one. It’s my way of ensuring he reads them.
The baby registry. So much excitement and stress all rolled up into one task. Registering can be one of the most fun stages of being pregnant, but if you’re a psychotic over-analyzer like me, it’s also a massive undertaking. I felt the need to make sure I was choosing the “best” of everything. Like, literally everything (thank god for Lucie’s List). I researched the best crib mattress cover, the best changing pad, the best bottle brush… I was insane; believe me when I say those things don’t matter. Do not do this.
There is nothing worse than a sick baby. So helpless, so weak, so completely pathetic. They sleep all day, and when they’re awake, they just whine and groan, and there’s nothing you can do to make them feel better.
Oh wait, I’m sorry, did I say “baby” up there? I meant “husband.” There’s nothing worse than a sick husband.
So there I was, on the floor of the Walmart deli, crawling after my baby who’d made a break for the puddle of spilled rotisserie chicken juice, when a grown man approached me slowly and asked: “Um. Do you need a cart?”
It was in that moment that I realized: I am that mom right now.
First of all, can we talk about how insane first birthday parties are?! We all know it, we all joke about it, and then we all turn right around and host a full three-ring circus in honor of our little snowflakes.
I started planning for my baby’s birthday 3 months in advance. We’ve been on a pretty tight budget since I transitioned to part-time at work, so I thought, we’re gonna keep this thing low-key. Just family and a few friends at our house, homemade food and cake, and DIY decorations and invitations.
Well, 3 months, 50 people, 5 smash cakes, and about a zillion hours (and dollars) of crafting later… we had ourselves a three-ring circus.
How did we get here?