Mom of Two, Part One

It starts at 2 am. The wee, wee one wakes. Nurse nurse nurse, burp burp burp. Change diaper. Sneakily, she pees during the split second that I'm taking the old diaper off and putting the new diaper on. In the middle-of-night grogginess, I have forgotten to put a waterproof pad down on the bed. Wet outfit, wet bed. I put the pad down, put the new diaper under her, and when I have the wet outfit halfway off, she starts to poop. She finishes (so I think), and I clean her off, go to put a new diaper on...and she poops on the waterproof pad while I'm getting the new diaper. Need new waterproof pad--trek downstairs holding snorfling baby (spits up on shoulder and new outfit halfway down stairs) and three dirty diapers. Shuffle to diaper pail, shuffle to baby bureau, shuffle back upstairs. New outfit on, baby wants to nurse again, it's now 3 am. She enters "quiet alert" state, which is the sweetest time--big shiny alien eyes open, cooing, tiny hands waving like she's swimming in air. We worship each other for a while, then it's 3:45. Nurse nurse nurse, burp burp burp, diaper change (no casualties this time), nurse, she falls asleep and I start to drift off. It's 4:30. "Mama," I hear from down the hall. "Mama, is it daytime?" Tuck baby into bed. Shuffle down hall and crawl into bed with less wee one. "Mama, read me a story!" "It's not daytime yet." "Why are the birds awake?" I listen--the birds are, indeed, awake. I read one, only ONE, story, and then we settle in for a cuddle and a nap. The door creaks open. The male member of the family is standing there, holding the wee wee one, who is noisily gnawing her fist. I smile blearily at them, as the nursing hormones are working their magic to put a positive spin on all this late-night family action. "I'm so, so tired," he says.

Chivalry Is, Indeed, Dead

Those of you who know me (and I think I can safely presume that no one else would be interested in this blog) know that I would classify myself as a feminist. If I were a famous feminist, Rush Limbaugh might even call me a Feminazi. So I am all for treating men and women equally, and I do not generally expect men to treat me "special" simply because I'm a woman. But you know, when you're nine months pregnant and carting a 30-pound toddler around, you generally expect people to be a little decent. It's a human issue, not a gender issue. After all, if I encountered a man who was nine months pregnant, I would certainly give him some respect.

So anyway, getting around to the point. Today has been one of those days. Those of you who have been this pregnant (I'm due in four days) will understand what I mean when I say I've hit the wall. I've been cheerful long enough (though Charles might disagree). It is high time for the wee one to exit her cozy nest in my midsection.

To stave off my random urges to shout at the belly, the Toddlerita and I went to the library. I had with me the only two potty books she will read--and which I firmly believe are absolutely the only reason she will even sit on the potty to "practice." These are very, very important books. I had already reached the renewal limit and wanted to check them in, then immediately check them out again. I asked the librarian if I could do this. "No, that would be called "renewing", and you have already REACHED the renewal limit," he said, snottily. "I understand that, but please look at these--they are very important books!" I replied, waving them in front of his face and pouring on the charm as much as someone with a squirming basketball in her shirt can. "Please," I said. "No, it is a library policy," he replied, as if the Word of the Lord had been laid down. "Obviously, you are not a parent," I murmured, and moved on. (And any of you who really DO know me are probably stunned I did not rip his head off. But I really didn't!)

Now, I have spent more than six years of my life working in libraries, and I know all about "library policy." "Library policy" is designed to keep people from abusing the system, and can be flexible with the breeze. For example, when I was working at the graduate library and a poor grad student came in who had lost and then found the periodical with $1.50 per day fine, erasing the $90 penalty and giving a stern warning not to let it happen again was not at all difficult, as my supervisor (who embodied "library policy") showed me. In my opinion, this guy should have renewed the books for me and counted it as his good deed for the day. It's not like "The Potty Book For Girls" is a New York Times bestseller with a waiting list of forty patrons.

But he wouldn't do it, and since I am grumpy but didn't have the wherewithal to take it out on him in person, I officially decree here that I hope his future children, should he have any, are dried apricot enthusiasts who are in diapers until grade school. And if he DOESN'T have children, may he blessed with an unpredictably incontinent dog.

There. I feel better now.