Some Kind of Wonderland

The other day, Dave was recounting this lovely banter he had with a woman who has a child a month older than Alice. She and her husband were in the labor and delivery class with us, coincidentally, and she told him an anecdote that didn’t include anything about constant fussiness, a desire to move out of state … alone, or wailing and gnashing of teeth (on her part). I don’t recall the exact adjective Dave said she used to describe her baby, but it may have been “perfect.”

I blocked it from my memory as soon as Dave told me, as a defense mechanism.

What? OK, I’m insanely jealous.

What does a mom do with a baby like that? What does one do for an hour after each bottle, if not reassure her screaming child that said child’s stomach would feel better soon? What kind of activities could that non-fussy time allow someone? I had no idea.

‘Til tonight.

I’ll tell you what it can do: You can brush your teeth with both feet on the floor, because your left leg doesn’t need to bounce the bouncy seat to keep a certain someone distracted enough to let you get a good minute in at the sink. You can rock in the rocking chair in a certain someone’s room ’til she falls asleep, and not have sweat rolling down your back and claw marks on your neck. You can blog. At night. At 9:21 p.m., because SHE’S SLEEPING NOW.

I’m not saying she’s better. This is no cure. I’m not going to rave about the antacid Prevacid and Nutragimen formula. Colic has left me feeling like a dog that’s been beat too much. Just because you, kind soul, offer me a nice sock to chew on doesn’t mean I’m coming out from under the bed. Not yet. Show me more, Alice. Maybe I’ll take back my only-child threats.

See, I just want one near-perfect day. A whole day. I just want to know what this chick’s talking about.