Friday, February 4, 2011

Making her mark

You can spot a new parent a mile away. It’s neither the bags under their eyes nor the glassy look on their faces that gives them away. It’s the stains on their shoulders. Left there like some forensic evidence that clearly, we are out of our damn minds. It may appear as if a bird mercilessly dive bombed us on the way in the grocery store like a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock. It may also look like we are the carnie sick-mopper on a miniature version of the tilt-o-whirl. In reality we have spent night and day tending to the care of feeding machine whose sole mission seems to be an endless cycle of what I used to do in college: sleep, eat, drink, puke. Babies do smell good but I’ll tell you what doesn’t…baby puke. If you have ever worked in a stock room when you had to stock milk you know that smell. Sour milk. It still amazes me that Heidi will eat and an hour later, like a cow chewing its cud, she returns my deposit. It doesn’t matter that you have a burp cloth on your shoulder either. You know that baby is going right off the reservation and making her mark on the only exposed fabric on your shirt. It’s not her that needs the bib, it’s me.

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