“You’re baby is sooo” Stop. Crinkle brow. “…nice.”
Oh-oh, nothing good comes from nice. Nice is a pathetic attempt to be polite. Or it is sarcastically uttered when, oh let’s see, off the top of my head for example, say a monster lunges at you on a Halloween ghost train and you spastically jump and squeal then redeem yourself with a “Nice!” but you don’t mean nice, not at all, you mean the exact opposite of that.
My baby is nice? I look down at her snug in her car seat ready to give her a smooch and tell her how gorgeous she is. Oh. Oh shit.
Four months old and her first French kiss. With her toque. Looks kind of like a pit bull slobbering over a treat. I feel violated just watching her. Her tongue is enormous! Funny, I hadn’t noticed that about her yet. Poor toque.
Poor baby too. Her first tooth should be arriving any day I say with no confidence whatsoever. For that one little eye tooth is a tease. Popping up, up, almost breaks through, then down, down and gone for who knows how long.
At first I was frantic to ease my baby’s pain. I bought her a soother style teether but she was just pissed that it was not a real soother. So I gave her a toother key ring but she can’t keep a hold of it. I applied Orajel but she HATED that so much more than the tooth popping out. I try some natural teething ointment but it seems to have no effect whatsoever. Everything has failed so far so I head out to do some more shopping. Which is when the toy store owner takes a frying pan, knocks me upside the head and tells me to get the hell out of here, don’t waste your money, and orders me to put a freakin cloth in the freezer, then grab a glass of wine you pathetic pampered excuse of a mother. Maybe not quite so brutally. But close. All because I asked if she had any of those cloth organic teethers.
Well shit, I did it. I fell into the marketing mania. Pampered and pathetic indeed. I could buy an organic knotted cloth for $15 or I could go in my cupboard, pull out a face cloth, wet it, knot it, and freeze it if I like, then shove that baby in the baby. For nothing. And it works.
When I get home I realize she got a Sophie the Giraffe as a gift and I could also try that, without spending (wasting) more money. And it works. Sophie is brilliant. Perfect weight, grab and texture.
Of course your baby may hate Sophie. Or just ignore her. So my suggestion, don’t buy-in to all the hype of what you need (to be a good mother- ugh). A cold wet cloth works as well as anything. Or your finger. And while I hope she is more selective later in life with who she French kisses, for now she can practice all she wants on random articles of clothing, blankies, keys and Kaya’s nose. As for Sophie, well, I think it’s a part of her contract. Violate me babies. Violate me. Nice.