Whenever we’re about to do anything outside the house with Sadie, we always tell her she’s about to embark on “Big Times.” “We’re going to Target today, Sadie! Big Times!” “Daddy’s going to take you to the museum this week! Big Times!” And so forth.
For some reason, when I tried to think of an image that related to “Big Times,” the only thing that came to mind was “Big Top Pee Wee.” Yeah, I don’t know either. But I nearly pissed myself laughing at this ridiculous picture, so enjoy.
This past weekend, we visited both sets of grandparents in West Virginia, as well as aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, babies of friends, and one very excited black lab who found my daughter’s right arm DELICIOUSLY LICKABLE. In short: BIG TIMES.
Sadie has made the 3-hour trip to West Virginia once before: the weekend after her first round of vaccinations, when she was still feeling a little off from the shots. This time around she was a much happier, much smiley-er little bundle of baby, despite the fact that CERTAIN PARENTS pretended they didn’t hear their sleeping child unleash a monstrous poop in her car seat one hour into the trip, and MAY HAVE let her marinate peacefully for the remaining two hours.
It’s a hard knock life! I’m just trying to prepare her.
We managed a quick rest area diaper change and feeding before reaching my in-laws’ house, where she was all smiles.
Psst! Lady! I sat in my poop for two hours!
Before we left that morning, I had a bit of a panic attack over how many adorable outfits suddenly fit Sadie but are on the brink of being too small. When did this happen, is what I want to know. I remember folding all those dresses and short sets away in drawers back in March, thinking that my baby would not fit into those gargantuan clothes until AT LEAST October. I was forced to do a last-minute load of laundry so that – provided I cycled Sadie through outfit changes with pageant-like frequency – she’d get a chance to wear all the obscenely cute clothing over the weekend.
OMG FUCKING ADORABLE. Also totally impractical, as 96% of that dress was in her mouth for the entire afternoon, the remaining 4% perpetually bunched up behind her.
Sadie was absolutely exhausted by the end of the first day, and after a quick bath to wash off the thousands of kisses deposited on every square inch of exposed skin, she passed out in her Pack & Play all night long. The next day was filled with more visits from friends and family, including the couple who got married in Basketville, USA last fall, back when Sadie was the size of a cocktail shrimp or tangerine or whatever the hell those pregnancy calendars say. We also met up with our friends and their 18-month-old son, Eli, and once again I was blown away watching a kid who could walk (which he started at 9 months old OMFG) and talk and look like a tiny man in his tiny shorts and sandals.
Sadie would come to hate sandals later in the weekend, thanks to an incident I like to call “Holy Fucking Shit,” but we’ll get to that in a minute.
Eli was in the process of being weaned, which Me of Two Months Ago would probably find way overdue at 18 months, but that Me of The Present understands. This is not to say I plan on nursing Sadie that long (the boy has a full set of teeth! TEETH, I say!), but I can definitely see how a person can stretch out the breastfeeding, what with the bonding and the nurturing and the just plain habit of it all. I was talking to my friend about our shared hate of the eeeeevil breastpump when Eli smacked his face right into the back of a wicker chair and proceeded to freak out accordingly. After the whole distraction/playing it down technique failed (“You’re OK! Look over here at the kitty cat!”) his mother scooped him up and held him to stop his crying. As he squirmed around on her chest, she turned to me. “He wants to nurse,” she said, her eyes looking glassy. And then I asked what was probably the world’s most unnecessary question: “Is it hard on you?” “Yes, of course it is, DUMBASS!” (OK, she just said yes, but I really deserved to hear the longer version.) I don’t know what exactly happened next, Internet, but before I knew it, I was crying almost as hard as Eli. I was completely embarrassed and kept apologizing, all the while trying not to wake Sadie who was sleeping on my lap and getting my salty tears splashed all over her fuzzy little head. Watching my friend struggling to refuse Eli just struck a crazy nursing nerve in my crazy nursing brain and OH GOD am I dreading this weaning shit now.
Eli, of course, eventually calmed down and was smiling and toddling around in no time, and we got back on the road again to visit my parents, with a quick stop at Brad’s cousin’s house along the way.
Sadie and Brad’s cousin’s daughter, Chloe. Sadie’s all “What’s this about weaning?” and Chloe’s all “DUDE. Chill the fuck out. They’re gonna put this shit on Facebook.”
We spent the rest of the weekend at my parents’ house, where we met up with my sister and niece. You may remember my niece as the baby born on Thanksgiving of last year:
Would like some pumpkin pie, please.
Well, say hello to Abby 7.0:
Seriously, someone stop these babies with the growing and the changing.
Abby is a riot, and looks so much like my sister it’s ridiculous. She’s almost got the crawling thing down, but I believe her fondness for the drink is slowing her progress.
Oh, LOL. And NO, of course she did not have any beer, but she DID spit up into the bottle about 5 minutes after this (fucking priceless) picture was taken.
You didn’t think Sadie and Abby would make it through babyhood without a same-outfit-photo-op, now did you?
The only picture in which neither one has her shirt stuffed into her mouth.
Later that afternoon, we had a visit from a good friend of mine and her 18-month-old daughter, Rachel, who was the first baby I ever held. Of course, she’s no longer an immobile little ball of chub but a full-on toddler, and have I mentioned that toddlers kind of frighten me with their ability to find the sharpest thing in the room and drive it into their temple in 4.5 seconds flat?
A certain cartoon character comes to mind.
My friend’s husband was holding Sadie while Rachel was playing with her sandals, and it was about this time that the Toddler Fairy must have whispered into Rachel’s ear, “Hey! Little girl! Your Daddy loves that baby more than you! TIME TO ELIMINATE!!” Quick as a flash, Rachel lobbed a sandal at Sadie. BUT! As toddlers are generally lousy shots, she totally missed. Whew.
And then. Like, 2 seconds later…
Rachel had taken her other sandal and slapped Sadie right across the face.
So THAT’S what it feels like to have your heart explode in your throat.
Brad grabbed Sadie while my friend tended to Rachel, who knew she was in trouble AND GOOD. Pretty soon both parties were calmed down, and I tried my best to field the flood of Oh My God, I’m SO SORRYS with casual Please, Don’t Worry About Its. I mean, this shit happens and will happen about ten thousand times more in the future, and Sadie was JUST FINE, but…wow. And OUCH. Someone explain to me again why someone hasn’t figured out a way for me to feel all of Sadie’s pain for her?
Then Abby accidentally rolled off the bed, and I was joined by my sister in The Land of Motherly Guilt.
Can we get some crash helmets up in this bitch? DAY-UM!
But the Big Times soon resumed as Sadie got her first taste of the exersaucer.
AND IT WAS GOOD.
We drove home yesterday, all three of us completely exhausted from all the love and attention that had been heaped upon us by friends and relatives. Sadie slept (poop-free) all the way home.
Dreaming of even Bigger Times. Hopefully those that don’t involve the business end of a Stride Rite.