Teething is the Get Out of Jail Free card bestowed to babies. Up at midnight, 2 am and 5 am for a week straight, after you’d finally learned to sleep through the night? It must be teething. Bit Sofia’s finger at swim class? It must be teething. Your entire breakfast ended up on the wall? It must be teething. Bad case of baby PMS? It must be teething. If you actually sprouted a tooth every time Mommy and Daddy uttered those four words, you could buy the family the 2017 Dodge Grand Caravan with the jackpot you’ve got coming from the tooth fairy. Mommy only wishes the misery ended when those pearly whites poked through your little gums. Unfortunately, even though they are merely stand-ins, those baby teeth need brushing – a process which goes down something like this. Mommy comes at you with the toothbrush. You and Mommy play tug of war with the toothbrush. Mommy wins because she’s bigger. Mommy attempts to pry your lips open long enough to run the brush at least once along your top and bottom gums. You let out a blood-curdling scream. Mommy loses because she has a headache. You lick the berry tooth gel off the brush and fling it under the couch. Mommy gives up and adds “baby gingivitis” to the ever-growing list of things that keep her up at night.
DRINK: White Cloud cocktail. 1 oz vodka, 1 oz white crème de cacao, 3 oz milk. Shake over ice and strain into a large highball glass over crushed ice. Your drink can be the perfect shade of white, even if your baby’s teeth can’t.
After a month of hearing “She’s so cute” or “What’s her name?”, even on the days she’s made a conscious effort to dress you in head-to-toe blue (or any clothing item adorned with a truck or a football) it’s clear the time has come for your ceremonial first haircut. Yes, Mommy’s been avoiding this day, but, no, it’s not because she’s using you as a pawn in any gender experiments (not that there’s anything wrong with that…) It’s just that, thanks to the booming baby industry, any milestone in your life always makes Mommy feel like she’s got I’m a new parent: Overcharge me tattooed across her forehead. Mommy considered taking matters into her own hands, until Daddy pointed out that anyone who outsources her own eyebrow maintenance shouldn’t be trusted with a pair of scissors and an infant’s head. So now Mommy finds herself at what is known in Yuppie Mommyland as a Children’s Hair Salon. It’s great to see that, despite your haircut costing twice what Daddy pays (and taking all of five minutes), the salon is equipped with some great family-friendly features like zero parking spots and bathrooms equipped without change tables (!!!) When Mommy asks the salon owner where she can change your diaper, she’s given a look like she’s just asked the Queen of England if she wouldn’t mind stashing your dirty diaper under her crown. At least Mommy leaves with an action shot and a First Haircut Certificate (hot tip: they’re available free online), both of which will get prime placement in the “Look! I’m really a great parent!” album that you’ll be forced to review on your 13th birthday. At which time, in a cruel twist of fate, Mommy will be begging you to cut your hair.
DRINK: High on Irony cocktail. 1/2 oz rum. 1/2 oz vodka. 2 oz fruit punch. 1 oz soda. 1/2 oz lime juice. Add ice and top with a cherry. Toast to Alanis Morissette and the famous chopping of her waist-long locks, circa 2003.
Nothing used to make Mommy feel more relaxed than a bath. Bubbles, lavender scented candles and some Sade were all she needed to unwind. Now, bath time gives Mommy several mini heart attacks (fear of hypothermia / drowning / soap blindness) and it’s worse now that you keep trying to stand (fear of splitting head open on Moen faucet). Mommy is not sure who is more soaking after tub time: you or her. Then the other day you “dropped some kids off at the pool”. Weird face + making your own bubbles = suddenly you’re bathing in feces. Mommy briefly felt triumphant after she successfully held you squirming and slippery while using the massage feature on the hand wand to beat last night’s mushy peas down the drain. Then you peed on her.
DRINK: Liquid Drano. 1 oz light rum, 1 oz blueberry schnapps, 3 oz blue Gatorade. Serve on the rocks in a highball glass with frozen blueberries for garnish. Enjoy on a non-slip surface.