By the way…

If you’re one of the three people who actually reads this thing, you may wonder why I decided to use the little censor bar in the last photo of Baby E, when I’ve never actually used one before (except in my profile pic). That was partly because I’ve always felt like I should but just haven’t, and partly because my lazy excuse for not doing it before was that “all babies look the same.”

But he’s almost four months old now, and looks less like some anonymous newborn, and more like an actual human being with his own unique face. I’m still too lazy to go back and anonymize the old pictures though, so if you scroll back and see them…whatevs. Good for you.

Little A and the husband are out of town and we’re in the middle of a heat wave, so Baby E and I are sleeping in the basement. He woke up hungry around 2:30 am. Okay, nbd. Babies need to eat. I fed him, took him upstairs, changed him, and in the way back downstairs I hear a giant splash. I couldn’t SEE the splash, because the lights were off upstairs and down, and the light above the stairs burned out four years ago and we’ve never replaced it. I heard one though, and a little bit felt it.

We go back up to his room, and he’s covered in spit up. So were my shorts. You know I’m neck-deep in parenthood, because my reaction to this was euphoric excitement that it didn’t get on my shirt, and hadn’t soaked through to my undies.

Baby E gets new clothes, and I get new shorts. I then lay him down on the floor in the hall so I can get a flashlight and check out the stairs. So many square feet of baby puke. It must’ve been one of those half-burped projectile ones, because it shot across half a flight of stairs. I silently thanked the universe that our stairs aren’t carpeted, and cleaned it up while Baby E, now wide awake and babbling excitedly, entertained himself.

Once I was done I figured since he was already on the floor I’d take advantage of the situation and go to the bathroom. While I was peeing I heard him drop a massive deuce. He was very happy about it. I was less happy about it, but grateful that it didn’t happen after we’d already gone back to bed.

When I was changing him my mommy instincts (and his red-faced grunting) told me he probably wasn’t done, so we hung out in his room for awhile while he worked on a couple more batches of butterscotch pudding. When he was finally done, I changed him again and we went downstairs.

At this point he was wide fucking awake. And so cheerful. You know how like, when you’re so tired, and they’re so full of energy that they’re flailing around and laughing and it’d be sooo cute if you weren’t about to keel over, but all you can do is just wish they’d shut up and go to sleep??? So anyway. That was happening.

I thought maybe if I fed him again he’d wind down. No such luck. Instead he just spit up all over his pack n play. I cleaned that up, bundled him up, gave him his passie, and eventually he was able to go back to sleep. Around 5 am. So that was my night. In case you were wondering.