Relaxing with coffee, Sophie, and Alex.
There’s nothing better in the world than having a weekend with a baby (if sarcasm could drip, it would be pouring). For those moms who can cart their little ones off to their parents’ house (or have a sitter come to you), I am envious, and I salute you.
For the rest of us who are chained to our little ones, the weekend goes something like this:
1. Wake up before the sun has risen (maybe even a few times) despite the fact that you would sell your husband’s right nut to get a full night’s sleep.
2. Try to snuggle with husband, only to realize that dog and baby are in the way.
3. Feel around on the mattress to realize that baby has saturated her diaper and the sheets.
4. Get up, change baby, and put her in her crib. Miraculously, baby discovers she has lungs like a T-Rex and makes noises loud enough to wake the upstairs neighbor (who is an asshole, so I am secretly pleased).
5. Take turns going to the gym, which results in half of our day being gone before it’s even started.
6. Get ready to actually leave the house (yes, please!) only to have baby fall asleep. Leave baby sleeping to avoid the wrath. Wait two hours. Stare longingly out the window at all the fun things people are probably out there doing right now.
7. Finally get ready to go out for a nice dinner. If this is a Friday, this usually consists of the following:
A. Try to get Sophie into clothes. Struggle for 15 minutes.
B. Breast feed, feed solid food, which looks like a land mine of peas and blueberries exploded in child’s face.
C. Attempt to clean child’s mouth as she bucks wildly in her Bumbo; hear small fart, put child on the potty to see the most monstrous shit ever created by a human come out like soft serve; clean up child again; struggle to get child into warm clothes and a big jacket that causes her to sweat uncontrollably and cry once we get into the car.
D. Head to pick up Alex for date; try to soothe Sophie as she suddenly starts crying from the backseat; sing “Ride a little pony” until blue in the face; battle Chicago rush hour traffic; get to restaurant, only to see a line out the door and no available parking.
E. Pull over so I can get in the backseat and try and get Sophie’s polar bear suit off her to cease crying; discover that she is pouring sweat; decide to forget the whole thing and head home so we can get her upstairs and comfortable and just pick up food instead.
F. Once we get home, Sophie is happy as a clam. Alex goes out to pick up food, which I could care less about. The only thing I want is the peanut butter parfait. I have been dreaming of it all day – no, in fact, all week – it’s the only thing I want or need to make the start to this weekend official. I can’t have alcohol, so I will have aflatoxin, bad for me, rodent hairs and bug fragments in every jar best thing in the world peanut butter. I call to order our food. There are no more peanut butter parfaits. Fuck my life.
8. A few other lovely occurrences that may or may not happen on any given weekend: Slice off the tip of my thumb while cutting tomatoes; run to the store, park upstairs at Whole Foods, haul grocery bags, car seat, heavy child and three gallon water jugs only to discover the elevator is broken; deal with the absolute hell of four (yes, four!!!!!!) top teeth coming in simultaneously; try to veg out and watch a movie that should take 90 minutes; instead, it takes 4 hours from all the starting and stopping and playing and whining and parenting and talking and bribing that ensues.
In short? Our weekends have become lost. I’m not sure when we’ll get them back, but I miss those relaxing moments that rejuvenate you for the week ahead.
But when I look at that sweet face, when I feel her hands grip me tightly as she goes to sleep, when I see that smile that is literally heart-wrenching, I know it’s all worth it and that these will be the memories I will cling to later in life, when she’s sixteen and hating me and unappreciative of it all.
So, for now, for this moment, I have found solace in a little coffee shop in Lakeview, sitting across from my beautiful husband, as we sip our decaf Americanos and work and listen to Sophie’s coos and watch the snow fall outside.
My handsome hubby in his vest, striking a pose.
I love these moments. They are my new weekends, and I welcome them with humor and the hope that one day, we will appreciate our weekends more than we ever thought possible. Until then, I live vicariously through other people and find the ability to love my life more than I ever dreamed.
Smoothie!
BABY SMOOTHIE
Ingredients:
10 organic blueberries
1/3 organic avocado
1/3 organic banana
purified water, to consistency
dash of spirulina (optional)
Directions:
1. Pop all ingredients into blender and blend until smooth and creamy.
2. Secure a body-size bib over baby and watch as the smoothie goes everywhere but in baby’s mouth. Enjoy!
Smoothie time.
Um, this is my favorite post yet. LOVE. Hilarious. So utterly relatable. God. But so worth it. But so true. And you’ll get your weekends back (right? Right????) That’s what I keep telling myself. Thank God for this blog – it is my dose of truth.
Thanks, Stacey! We WILL get our weekends back. It’s what I tell myself every Sunday, as Monday rolls around, and it’s like some version of Groundhog Day. Truth is good, I think. It helps us bond.
This is literally classic. God, I’d give both my husband’s testicles for a full night’s sleep. I am still laughing. And that smoothie looks great. It’s wonderful you are making her food.
Ha! I’m sure your husband would appreciate that as much as Alex would. Making her food has been such fun since getting a Vita-mix (finally!!!!). She LOVES smoothies – probably her favorite next to peas and broccoli.
You look stunning. No sleepiness or “mom” face in presence. How do you do it? And your hubby is dreamy.
Love the post. I remember those days trying to go out to dinner. We failed more than we succeeded. Can’t wait to read what happens next. 
Thank you, Valerie – it’s called Instagram. So many filters to choose from.
I think Alex is dreamy too – thank you! 
We used to be able to go out to dinner, but it’s getting harder. However, it gives me something to write about at least. 
Thanks for reading!
Well, Instagram or not, you are beautiful and so is your family. I love your honesty. Don’t ever lose it.
Hysterical- because it true!!!
I still feel the implicit judgement and pressure from people, who have older kids (and no recall) or no kids at all, who haven’t seen us in more than 6 months, wanting us to “zip” on over. In their invitation are the quiet almost silent seeping questions, “What DO you do ALL day? Why are you so tired all the time? Why can’t you just get out more? What do you mean you can’t get drunk tonight because you gotta get up at least 2 times in the middle of the night and that being drunk when you do so is less fun than it sounds? Why are your 3 and 6 year old getting up in the middle of the night? What the fuck kind of mom are you? What do you mean you’re on duty at 6 am tomorrow? You really can’t add a night out to see ME? What do you mean you can’t commit to training for a half marathon just 3 times a week with me? Has your commitment to health fallen off THAT much?”
To them, (after I whisper “fuck you all” to myself) I will send this blog – and tell them to replace your voice with mine, and to add another, differently aged child (read as different but no less immediate demands) in the mix. Maybe…..just maybe they’ll remember…and keep trying to be my friend sans judgement.
Oh my God, I love you. Seriously. This in itself is brilliant. I’ve found that to be the hardest part of parenthood – non-parents not understanding why I can’t just “do” things; asking, “Oh, how’s the baby?” and that’s that. What about ME? The baby’s awesome. She gets everything attended to; she’s cooed at constantly, gets to sleep on a TEMPUR-PEDIC and cuddle and suck on boobs and get her butt wiped and play with toys. I mean, what could be better?
But what about US? And I think what I’m learning from what you said is this pattern will continue – in all its frustrating beautiful glory and agony – no matter her age.
I’ve found our world has shrunk a bit in terms of people in some ways and expanded in others. It’s like stepping into this complete alternate universe. I watched a couple walking down the street yesterday as I sat in my car, breast feeding Sophie. I watched the way their arms swung casually by their sides (no diaper bag, no stroller, no pained expressions). I watched as he bumped her shoulder delicately with his own. I watched her bite her bottom lip. They ducked into a store spontaneously and then popped back out. They perused a menu on the side of a restaurant wall; they decided to keep walking. I watched them, thinking, “That used to be me.” I used to walk with only one purpose – to get to a destination. Now, I am on high alert ALL THE TIME. There’s no casually walking anywhere or doing anything – you are “on call” – forever. I can see why it’s hard to relate if you don’t have this type of life, but it saddens me to know there’s judgment for “disappearing”. I’ve gotten that from a few friends and now they contact me less and less because I’m putting my family first. Um, yeah. Yes, I am. It would be nice if those friends would show up some day, without scheduling it A MONTH IN ADVANCE and say, “How are you today? Do you need any help?” Just imagine. 
Okay, that is enough rambling for one day. Thank you for the stunning comment. As always. You are inspiring in so many ways! I wish we were neighbors.
I wish we were neighbors too. Seriously. The idea of you guys in our community –m spontaneous coffees or cook outs, being able to look in the yard two houses over and see your daughter running through the sprinkler, to run into you in the park,
….Oak Park is a lovely urban somewhat affordable backyardy place to live, with easy access to the city and filled with people, who, like us, would rather live in an urban center, but want a simpler more community oriented place with good schools and a backyard for their kids– seriously — almost everyone I meet talks about how they moved here for their kids and are moving back when their kids graduate (or they are Oak Park raised adults, who moved back with their kids). AND with the added bonus of being Carl Rogers and Ernest Hemmingways’ stomping ground and Frank Lloyd Wrights canvas.
Okay I’m done being an Oak Park marketing agent…but……….sigh……
This sounds so lovely!!! Spontaneous coffees and cook outs, especially.
I’ve never been to Oak Park, so I look forward to it! Can’t wait to see you guys and catch up!
Oh you poor creature. I would totally babysit all of your creatures so you could go diddle yo man and then eat a big peanut butter parfait. Sorry I’m so far away!! xx
Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds BUT I so wish you were closer too.
You are definitely one of the people I live vicariously through – traipsing through Europe, living the dream…I miss you!
What on earth is a peanut butter parfait ??!! I HAVE to try that!
You made me laugh so hard! Especially the soft serve poo!
Um, only the BEST THING EVER! There’s a restaurant here called Native Foods that we LOVE (usually all local, organic produce and all vegan) and it’s banana mousse with banana bread crumbles and chocolate. Heaven. I pop it in the freezer to make it like ice cream. I found a recipe for it and I’m going to make it and share! Though I’m afraid I will eat one every night now… Oh boy.
Now I need a banana peanut butter parfait…EVERYDAY.
love the smoothie recipe – ive never added an avocado in mine before, but great idea!
It makes it so creamy and delicious – enjoy!