Tuesday, 15 January 2013

The floors are not laced with arsenic...

Look at me, post number two -- in the making.  Now first things first, I must apologize for the grammar and spelling errors in my first post.  My only excuse
(which seems to always elicit sympathy from everyone) is that its my son's fault.  I didn't have a chance to really give it a good proof read because my little angel has angry little white saws destroying his gums, and I hastily pushed publish in an excited and frazzled spontaneous moment.  I will try my best to not punish you with bad grammar and spelling errors from this point onwards.  Scouts honor.

Alright, so here's the thing I need to make perfectly clear.  Babies do not come with manuals.  Let me take a time machine back a few months, when my son was just born.  I had ZERO idea what to do or what I had done.  We created this human that solely depended on me to do EVERYTHING and to know EVERYTHING and to somehow figure out EVERYTHING that he needed.  Oh, and by the way, I realized that I said me and not us.  Essentially this is how it works, the Mom is the principal who runs the show and the Dad is the vice-principal who steps in when the principal is out of the school with meetings (lets call these meetings, showers...remember when you could just shower?).  Vice-principals are important, don't get me wrong... but the brunt of late night feedings and cranky teething humans land on the principals shoulders.  Such is the life of a Mama.

At any rate, the first three months of being a Mom I treaded water, barely feeling like my head was above the water but then I figured him out.  BOOM!  Like a flash of lightening, I figured out this sweet, cute, chubby, adorable (ok you get the point) human that I made.  I now am completely confident that I know EVERYTHING that he needs, because I'm his Mama.  Completely over confident that is.  And because of my over-confidence, the universe decided that I needed to get a little bit put back in my place.  

Now don't laugh and don't judge but I had no idea that you needed to sterilize your bottles EVERY SINGLE time you used them.  Really?  I wash them, like I wash my dishes, shouldn't that be fine?  Apparently not. Now I don't exclusively bottle feed, my little dude is still on the boob but one never leaves the house without an emergency bottle.  So yeah, now I feel like the worst mother in the world subjecting my son to the microbes that could survive my dishwasher and clearly cause him to have elephantitis or rocky mountain spotted fever or something equally horrible.  And then I think to all the times I have (or lets be totally honest not...) washed his toys.  I mean, when the toy falls on the ground -- is it subjected to the 2 second rule?  And then does it matter the type of ground it fell on?  Is there a point system for how disease infested my son's toy has now become?  Just one point for falling on the kitchen floor (it's pretty clean, right? We wear slippers...), but what about the foyer-- that must be 2 points because it's so close to the outdoors and all our shoes, his nursery must be a freebie because clearly anything so cute and baby like should be clean, and then there's someplace horrible like Wal-Mart. *shutter*  That must be like 100 points or do you just have to throw it out and get a new toy because its impossible to get the grossness of Wal-Mart off anything?  

I feel like we as parents, especially Mothers, are subjected to fear mongering.  That's why I stopped reading.  I don't care what I should "expect".  Like a wise friend, and a great fellow mom, once told me, "...the floors are not laced with arsenic."  So am I bad Mom, nah.  Does my son have a stronger immune system -- probably.

While we're on the subject of toys, my closing rant will be for the beloved "it" baby toy that any baby who is a baby, has.  You guessed it, the over priced dog toy herself, Sophie the Giraffe. I've seen this stupid giraffe cost anywhere from $19.99 to $25.99 and it makes me angry.  Angry that I didn't think of the idea first.  Seriously?  A squeaky dog toy that has long appendages that are easy to hold, and fun to chew on?  But wait, on the box I'll tell you that it was made in 1961 in France (Ooooh la laaa, how posh!)  Bah.  I bet even Kevin O'Leary didn't see that one coming.  And the worst part of it all?  My son loves it.  LOVES it.  Sophie is the only toy that I need to bring with me anywhere to occupy the ever so fleeting attention span of my 6 month old little boy.  So much to my dismay, I have succumbed to the -ism that is Sophie.  

Look! $100's worth of Sophie's!
My luck, the next time I have the misfortune of having to be at Wal-Mart, let alone require having to change my babe in their washroom, he'll drop Sophie (for fun to laugh at me -- not out of lack of dexterity, he's a real joker like that).  Wal-Mart bathroom floor...what would that be, 1000 points?  

Let's be honest, that squeaky French-Posh even-toed ungulate mammal would get a first class trip to the garbage can...and I'd be stuck grumbling while forking out another $25.99.  Because even a laid back non-fear mongering Mother like myself can see the the arsenic glistening upon the cesspool that is Wal-Mart.

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