I had a physical therapy appointment today for my hand. I've been going for about 2 months now and it's slowly getting better. Meaning I can bend my wrist without screaming my head off. Baby X has to come with me because everyone I know either works or is my mother-in-law and anything left with my mother-in-law? Never seen again. And I've become pretty attached to Baby X. He's cute, he seems to like me and I have that whole room set up for him so yeah. I don't want to lose him amid Miss ok-love-you-bye-bye's massive pile-oh-crap.
Anyway, since I'm getting off track and did you notice that I do that a lot? Because I do. Like right now? I forgot what I was going to tell you. Oh right, physical therapy.
So, Baby X goes with me and it's lovely. He is such an easy going little squirt. He's one of those babies where you hate the mom because he rarely cries. It's not uncommon for him to go an entire day without a fuss. Yeah, ok. You can hate me now too.
He sits in his stroller and plays and flirts and eats those Gerber Fruit puffs and talks to his pointy finger (and I think the pointy finger talks back) and all is well. Since my appointments take an hour, this is really cool. And I get to talk to a real live human adult. And she actually talks back and does not ask me for things like Bratz dolls (so damn ugly) or diaper changes. She did ask though that I stop offering her Fruit Puffs and talking to her in that higher toned baby speak. And she's nice! Did I mention I get to talk to another living breathing Adult???? Yeah. So nice.
Today before I left I thought it would be nice if I actually wore clothes that did not say maternity on them or had spit up on them or marker. Or mashed fruit puffs. I thought I'd leave the house looking like I'd actually taken time to put on something I hadn't been sleeping in.
Ok, it was just jeans and a nice shirt (read clean and unstained) but wow! I felt human. There was no maternity label on the pants or shirt. No holes. It matched.
I was all pleased with myself. I packed up the diaper bag and picked up Baby X. I had just enough time to get to my appointment. I ran out to my car to strap in Baby X.
And then the inevitable happened.
Baby X spit up on me. All over my nice (read clean and previously unstained) shirt.
What was I thinking?