We’re running around like crazy today, making our final preparations for BlogHer ’12, so enjoy this guest post from Jen of Also Known As…The Wife! Jen is one of the bloggers we’ll be meeting this week at BlogHer!
- Both constantly spill drinks. The first thing that goes when you start imbibing is fine motor skills. Babies have very limited fine motor skills. The result from either one is a spilled drink or two (or every single one they have in their hand) and a perpetually sticky floor.
- Both need to hold onto the table when standing up. “Yay! Sophia used the table to pull up!!” I found myself exclaiming excitedly when my daughter finally pulled up on her own. “Holy Crap! Kristin (not her real name) had to use the table to stand up! How did she end up on the floor??”
- Both don’t know how to use their “inside voice”. Baby screeches are understandable. A twenty-something woman screeching because the band just started playing a bad cover of “Livin’ On a Prayer” is not.
- Both talk in complete gibberish that only you understand. “Dat! Dat! DAT!!!!”- baby “Yes sweetie, I know that’s a cat.” – me; “Vodka and Absolut, rocky and twisted!” – roommate “She’d like a vodka and soda over ice with a lime.” – me.
- Both puke on themselves. No explanation needed but dammit if you don’t have to clean both of them up.
- Both go from inexplicably happy to inexplicably teary to inexplicably angry and back again in two point seven nanoseconds. Take away the rogue power cord from a baby and let the wailing begin; stop them from retrieving it and watch the tiny swinging limbs; dangle a cookie in front of the same baby and cue the squeaks of delight. Steer your friend away from the DBag with the popped collar and watch as she starts claiming you’re jealous, explain that you observed him playing the same shtick on every other girl there and she’ll claim that you’re her BFFL through tears; then the bad starts playing “Don’t Stop Believing” and she’s back to dancing around and claiming this is her favorite song, ever!
- Both end up in bed with you on a particularly bad night. It’s called “co-sleeping” when you’re a parent; it’s called “get the hell out of my bed” when you’re in college.
Sure things like this may test your patience and your sanity but who would trade either one? At least you get good stories to tell.
Read more from Jen over at Also Known As…The Wife!