Three weeks ago, life took a dramatic change. While we anticipated this change in our household, one never quite knows what to expect. We decided to embark on the greatest experiment in life. My mister and I were blessed to bring home a very little person of our very own making. It seems that when one does such a thing, the adult parties - of which, I am one, supposedly - are responsible for the care and management of said little person. It's simple, right? Feed the baby, burp the baby, change the baby, rock to sleep the baby, and repeat. Simple until you realize that feeding can be painful, that burping doesn't relieve gas in the nether regions, that you are nearly out of diapers, and that your baby won't sleep for more than 3.7 minutes in her bed during the day. Somewhere in that 3.7 minutes, you try to make dinner, do the dishes, and clean the bathroom. We won't mention the pile of laundry, now stained with various bodily fluids. Thankfully, vacuuming can be done one handed, sort of, as long as she's not afraid of the noise.
Why, then, do apparently rational adults put themselves through such a routine? Well, one woman commented that her reason was because she kept falling asleep (Thank you, Bill Cosby). For me, I like my little person. And she has cute toes. And she's learning to smile back at me.
Now if she'll just stay happy long enough so we can get more diapers...
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