Lock Me Up

I have the strangest encounters. With real people. 

Ugh. The pregnant comments. If someone else tells me that I "sure have my hands full", I might deliver right there on the spot. Just to show them that it's going to be ok. They are always so concerned. Terrified for me. I don't know how to explain it. So I refer back to this saying, and they look at me like I just ate skittles from a unicorn. I am not crazy. Children are good things, no matter who told you what, or how many of them I have. I know this to be true. Now stop staring at my kids riding on the underpart of the buggy like superman and get out of my way. We have pounds of goldfish to buy.

This weekend, at Starbucks, the dude asked me if the coffee was for me. And, "Did you mean DECAF? I'm just lookin' out for your kid." Um. Someone should be looking out for you. Right this moment. I'm convinced he gave me decaf, anyway.

In line today, at Whole Foods, a man stared at me and then managed to grumble, "Well, you're imprisoned for the next 21 years. Unless you have others. Then, of course, you already are." I just stared at him. Trying to decide what to do. I chose to completely ignore him. other than the stare. You know, the if it isn't nice don't say it and the turn the other cheek and the keep your hands to yourself path. The check out girl gave me a sweet smile and said, "What number is this for you? I can always tell a seasoned mom when I see one." I smiled at her sweetly and then shot the man my most sincere smart ass grin. "It's our third. We are so excited!"

**I don't understand. Imprisoned? If he means up to my elbows in hugs and kisses and sweet giggles and snuggles, then lock. me. up. Maybe he's mostly referring to the teenage years? Where it will be hard, but worth it, to let them make their own decisions and ignore the advice on lessons that I so painfully learned? Who cares. Lock. Me. Up. What a sad man.

**See also: I don't understand. 'Seasoned Mom'. It must've been that I was showered with my hair and makeup done. Because we all know that didn't happen the first time around. Or the second. Or it may have been that my saint friend Stacy kept my little man today while Cham was at school- leaving me more than enough time to run 5 errands in an hour and a half. I had a confidence about me. Or. Maybe she was making something up to distract me from choking the man in real life- not just in my head. Whatever the reason, it was so sweet. Mostly because it's not true. I am not a seasoned mom. My oldest is 3. I'm learning. I'm new at this. I make huge. mistakes. But I don't have to be seasoned to know that motherhood//parenthood is not a jail sentence. It's the best, most humongous blessing of all time. I can't believe I only get 18 or 21 or however many years with my babies living at home. 35? Anyone? 

Less than 6 weeks left. I know, it's kind of a long time, but I'm getting the nest itch. Not like before, where I had a nursery to prep and clothes to organize. But I was just sitting here the other day and thought. Huh. We don't have any newborn diapers. I sold our swing. I have no nipple cream. I went on a tizzy through the tupperwares of clothes I have saved and found 3 outfits that were suitable for either girl or boy. And panicked. And strapped the kids in the van and went shopping for neutral onesies. Duh. Only because I didn't wanna be home day 1 going through bins while my nakey newborn sat. nakey.

I'm weird and I know we will have everything that we need. I am so unprepared for this baby and ok with it that it would probably shock everyone who knew me. Babies don't really need anything but breast milk. And that, I will have. You learn that after a couple rounds, I guess. Seasoned mom, and all. But diapers. We will need diapers. So i went to the store and bought some today. 6 weeks early.

I know, maybe I am crazy. Lock me up.

Until Next Time,
The Guff