Tonight, T and I are taking some food over to our friends' house because they just had a baby and are, I imagine, deliriously scarfing down Triscuits* while burping an adorable-but-still-very-"Where the hell am I"-thinking baby while falling asleep watching Bill O'Reilly while wondering why on earth they're watching Bill O'Reilly in the first place.Or wait, I guess that was T and me.
When I think back to the early days now, I imagine it's a little like a rock star thinking back to the biggest bender of his life. It's all quite hazy, but we might have slept at some point, it was always night, there was a lot of screaming, there was even more laughing--sometimes maniacally, sometimes while screaming.
Even stranger, though, it's strange to remember that Bean was still a stranger to us. (Side note: Please appreciate the fact that I was able to use the word strange three different ways in that sentence!) We loved him, of course, but before he came along we didn't even really know what a baby was, let alone who Bean was. Although I spent hours and hours preparing for labor--doing everything from going to classes to trying and failing to learn self-hypnosis--I rarely thought about what would happen, you know, after. And when I did think about what having a kid would be like, there was a giant "SCENE MISSING" and then suddenly I'd be driving around town doing errands on a beautiful spring day, having a cute conversation with the world's most well-behaved two-year-old, who would be in the back seat asking me questions like, "What color are butterfly souls, Mommy?" Seriously, I couldn't have been more baby ignorant, and I think T feels the same.
But you know, the clichés are true: Babies are only babies for, like, a day. Also, you shouldn't let them grow up to be cowboys.
I'm so happy for my friends. Tonight, here's what I expect to see, and if I see it I'll know they're fully immersed in the bender of early parenthood: bleary ears, disheveled hair, general look of immense confusion, and giant freaking smiles.
(God, I meant to say "eyes" in the above paragraph, but I'm keeping the typo to prove that it's not like one snaps out of it and back into sanity right away or anything.)
(Photo: Bean wonders in disbelief exactly who's running this outfit, anyway, and how can he get them replaced with someone more competent?)
*This post is not sponsored by Triscuits.
2 comments:
Hi, Nicole,
I'm a longtime reader and a first-time commenter.
You're so right about the Triscuits. We never buy Triscuits, but when I made my first half-assed attempt at grocery shopping, the first thing I put in the cart was a box of Triscuits. Either I had a hankering for some Triscuits or I felt a half-assed attempt at shopping wouldn't be complete without them. I'm not sure which. If you're truly desperate, like we were, you can sort of convince yourself that a handful of Triscuits is a meal.
Enough about the Triscuits. Thanks for visiting James, and thanks for the excellent dinner.
We went the imitation Ritz Crackers from Whole Foods route, rather than Triscuits. That buttery goodness got me through many breastfeeding/baby comforting sessions. But why does living on crackers and the kindness of meal-delivering friends not make the baby weight melt off?
Side note: I am so glad you are blogging. I'm still blogging at babble.com - in case you want to see pictures of my boy.
Second side note: Will is adorable! And he looks like you & Trevor! It's silly, but I just can't get over how much babies really do look like their parents. We created people, and they look like us - it's amazzing and really, truly mind-boggling.
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