We Have a DatePosted: August 31, 2011
Yes, we have a date. Not the fun kind with romance and flattering lighting and pretty outfits and food and wine. The kind with anxiety and doctors and surgery and Xanax. Le sigh.
Das Baby’s G-Tube placement has been scheduled for next Thursday, September 8. Think good thoughts for us then, please.
I’m trying to see the positives, as in: “Hey, we’re getting it over with,” and, “Now I won’t have to worry that my child is slowly starving,” and “Hopefully this will mean we do more than just try to feed him all day every day.”
But I’m still worried. About everything. The surgery. The change in his comfort on his tummy. A change in motor skills. I mean, come on, how cute was that commando crawling?! How amazing is it that my baby is moving around of his own volition? And what if he stops commando crawling because he’s got this uncomfortable tube in his tum? Or what if he doesn’t stop commando crawling and yanks said tube right out? And then I’m worried that it will be years before the tube comes out (intentionally). That we’re just prolonging his feeding issues. Le double sigh.
Ok, enough mommy/medical logorrhea.
Another kind of date: Something very suburban hausfrau and very, very fabulous happened here today (and no, I’m not talking about a ‘script for Xanax.) I paid people to come clean our house. And it looks and smells shiny and wondrous (with a side of salt and vinegar chips because we like cleaning with vinegar because it’s better for Das Baby). Last night I engaged in the pre-cleaning-lady (although our cleaning folks are a man and lady duo) ritual of cleaning up the house, a process which baffled me as a child (and in which my childhood refusal to participate eventually led to the cleaning lady cleaning every room in the house but mine).
So last night, I put away Das Baby’s nine million baby toys. (Parenting Pointer: have a toy bin in Every. Room. Of. Your. House. It makes life so much easier (and they can be cute and small and decorative, if you like–the bins, not the babies; the babies can be cute and small, but rarely are they willing to be only decorative)). And I tidied the kitchen and put the mail in the office and all of those other little things that I had to do, and then today was rewarded with a squeaky clean home. And this magic will happen every two weeks. Yum. Yay.
This is me. Relishing the trappings of suburbia. And I only feel slightly guilty about it! Your little girl is growing up.
I’ll close with a video of a recent dinner date I had with Das Baby. He really, really likes it when you call him Dirty Dude and then clean him up. Let’s hope this doesn’t develop into some sort of pathology necessitating years of therapy or an understanding partner.