It's the Pre-Game

Now don't get me wrong, I would walk on hot coals for my sweet baby boy. I also think of myself as a relatively low maintenance kind of girl. Not financially, mind you, but emotionally. And I am an expert suitcase packer. Seriously, all state in high school -- got the varsity letter and everything.


That being said, there is NO SUCH THING as a quick get-away with a baby in tow. Hubby and I call the entire process "the pre-game" {yes, most things in our life have a football analogy. We are from Texas after all}. Pre-game consists of finding the car seat (how we can misplace the monstrosity, I don't know. We are baffled by this phenomenon ourselves). Then, there is the ritual packing of the diaper bag, making of bottles and deciding how many diapers we need to tote. Followed by the locating and dismantling of the stroller. There was a time when a trip to the market meant a twenty and lipstick {I did mention that I am from Texas, right?} Now, everything is a process. What has happened to me?


The Car Seat (insert spooky music here). The car seat is the bane of my existence. It is cumbersome, weighs a million pounds and is ugly plastic. Yes, Ralph Nadar, I know that it is not about me but, why oh why, can't Dior make a car seat? I see these other women glide down the lane with it hitched in the crook of their elbow while they drink Starbucks coffee and chat on the phone. I am not that mom. I bounce the seat up and down so much that a drunk could not sleep through the experience.


The Diaper Bag: In this unfashionable sac, I only carry diapers and food. I have NO IDEA what all these other women are carrying in them. My husband deployed to Afghanistan with a smaller rucksack than some women take to the mall. However, even I find it necessary to carry diapers (see one of my first posts to find out what happens when you don't take diapers to the pediatrician), food and lip balm (I do live in Colorado). Some people carry toys, changes of clothing, a first-aid kit, bee sting balm, inhalers, satellite phones and a Pack & Play. Honestly, people, if your child is having this big a crisis, GO HOME!


The Stroller. Now, for the uninititated, I am a very mathematical and logical person. I am not a Vulcan, I have feelings and all but I prefer numbers to words (why I have taken on the moniker of blogger, I don't know. When you don't feel you are a strong writer, the best place to toss yourself is into the public realm on a little-known, little-used medium like the www so EVERYONE can criticize you).


But back to the stroller. I bought a Bugaboo because it is cute and trendy (and a girlfriend of mine was selling hers. $1500 for a new one is insanity. Seriously, my first car cost $1500. It was a pos but at least it had a combustion engine and was not powered merely by my feet a la Fred Flintstone like the stroller is). However, the higher end strollers require a degree in mechanical engineering to sort out. And don't get me started with putting it together in the first place. I recall meeting some girlfriends for drinks (yes, I took my baby to Happy Hour. Don't judge me, it was an upscale bar -- no shooters or body shots; he even ate some edamame and lemon tempura). I spent 15 minutes in the parking lot trying to un-collapse the thing. I ended up in tears and carrying him. For the record, I can now sort out the stroller with one hand while holding a sleeping 26 pounder and a Sbux, no water, extra hot chai with honey {does that scream yuppie or what?}


I swear this is totally true: when I was in graduate school a friend had a baby. Fine, fine. She and her hubby came over for dinner one night. They were an hour late. Annoying but fine. Into our house they hauled four bags, a portable crib, a car seat and a height chair. Oh honestly, is this necessary? She then preceded to baby proof our house with electrical plug thingies and moving the shade cords up. This was simply dinner … NOT a time-share arrangement, mind you.


Did I mention their baby was 6 WEEKS OLD? Your child can't even roll over but you fear her making a noose, grabbing cutlery and simultaneously electrocuting herself while she leaps from her high chair to her death by hanging? She can't even focus her eyes but she has a suicide plan?


That was the day I vowed I would never be "that mom."