Before Jack arrived, I was given this golden nugget of parenting advice:
If the blow-out is too bad, throw the onesie away.
When blow-outs happen, they scramble your brain. You don't want to do what you know you have to do. You panic nonsensically that you might have to use like TEN WIPES. You don't understand why you went to graduate school. It didn't prepare you for this. Nothing has. And how does the baby choose THAT MOMENT to smile at you, looking so pleased with himself?
I've shared the advice. I've had friends come back to me and thank me for it. Because their babies' blow-outs scrambled their brains, too, and the one clear thought they could muster was that it's okay to toss the bit of cotton and snaps that probably came from Target. You don't have to clean it. You are already demeaning yourself enough.
* * * * *
Sawyer and I took Jack to the dentist the other day. He chose that moment to have a massive blow-out. And, with the grit and determination of a second time mother, I cleaned it up and saved the onesie. Because it's the fancy onesie with Texas and the guitar on it.
|When you finish that selfie, you will realize that I have just shit in your lap, Mom.|
I love you.
Hope your dignity remains intact today.