Adventures With Baby

Call me Mother of the Year.

I'm now on the third outfit, second bath, and innumerable diaper with Tula. Whoever said it would be best to go with "baby's natural rhythms" was either not a parent or full of what goes in the diapers. Tula, naturally, thinks this is delightful. She's been busy offering not-so-gummy grins and splashing me in her bath. It's a great look for her, but really pathetic for me. Plus, she's figured out how to roll over in her towel and investigate the toilet. Not good.

She's also furious with me because I've done away with her escape plan. Like many babies, Tula has a Bumbo chair. I love this thing. I can put her in it on the kitchen table and feed her. Way easier than the high chair. Or it was until Tula discovered she could escape it. Boomer and I found her crawling on the kitchen table in a quest for the salt shaker as we were fetching sweet potatoes from the pantry. Exit Bumbo, enter high chair. Her Highness is displeased.

Now we're on to crawling. This is quite acceptable as we're independent and grooving. We're also grooving toward the television and the end tables in an effort to eat Peanut's art projects. I want to know where the Potted Plant stage went and if I can get it back. The laughter you hear is Peanut's.

But then Tula cries. And as I pick her up in an attempt to actually get the clean diaper on her, she wraps her little arms around me and does not let go. And the little frustrations of my day melt away. Peanut is ready and willing to play with his little sister. All is right with my world again.

Call me Mother of the year.