Please Donâ€™t Hand Me Your Child Because I Forgot How To Baby
I could tell this was going to be easy. I had done this. I used to spend four hours with my kid when she was a baby, and nothing bad ever really happened. My husband doesnâ€™t have to be at work until midmorning, so he kept the baby occupied for two hours, giggling and cooing and doing adorable baby stuff.Â Then he left.
I got on the floor to keep the kid company during tummy time, and I said. â€œOkay, kid. Weâ€™ve got two hours until your mother gets here. Just you and me. What do you want to do?â€
The answer was cry.
She wanted to cry for two hours, which she did, and when her mother showed up she wasnâ€™t surprised. I was apologizing over and over for not being able to make her kid happy, which she laughed off.
â€œSheâ€™s a baby. Babies cry.â€
I donâ€™t remember my kid crying that often, but she must have. I donâ€™t remember potty training sucking that bad until my husband reminds me that it took almost two years and one prolapsed rectum (donâ€™t google that) to accomplish. I donâ€™t remember training her to eat solids being too much of a chore until another of my friends showed up with yogurt and mashed peas in her hair, a zombie-like mask of sleep deprivation on her face, begging me to tell her that it gets better, that it gets easier.
I couldnâ€™t tell her that, but I can do you one better.
Give it a few years, youâ€™ll forget all about it.