More and More Lameness

So as I sit down to report to you the happening of our New Year, I will let you know from whence my inspiration springs.  My precious 2.5 month old managed to stealth spit-up on my shoulder and somehow my hand without my fully noticing, so that when I itched my inner ear, I managed to drag in some spit up, which though now largely wiped out, seems to be crackling a bit when I itch at my ear.  How do these things happen and why, oh, oh why do they feel so disheartening?

I think that my problem is that I am vainly attempting to hold myself to a higher standard than I should expect for the mother of a two month old.  For instance, I was invited to two New Year's eve parties.  One was kid-centric:  party from five until eight in the evening.  Drop the New Year's ball at 7:30 so that the kids got to see a ball drop and get to bed at a reasonable hour.  The second party was a dinner party that was definitely not kid friendly.  I wanted desperately to attend both.

It was clear that the kid-centric New Year's Eve party with my three year old as my date was the only option.  My husband stayed home with the baby and off we went, we were home by 8:05, and I was on the couch watching The Change Up (which will not be nominated for an Oscar) by 8:30 PM.  That was my evening.

The other party was impossible for so many reasons that I cannot count them, but I will list a few to you:

• the baby's feeding schedule meant that I would have to feed at some point during the party
• I did not want to take the baby to the party.  It was not baby friendly.
• this meant that I would have to take my pump and sequester myself in the bathroom at some point and pump breast milk while everyone else did whatever you do at adult parties
• I have no fun shirts to wear that do not reveal my big dirty nursing bra straps
• I have to wear a nursing bra everywhere I go
• For this reason, I am confined to terrible Target knit shirts that I will not regret ruining when they are inevitably leaked on

These are six of the reasons that the party did not work, so I consoled myself that I could at least get a decent night's sleep, and then get up early to run with my running group on New Year's Day.  I was enthused about this until the baby made the decision not to sleep until a reasonable hour, but wake up ready to party at three AM.  When he was finally soothed back to sleep at almost six AM, it seemed rather miserable to get up for my run, BUT it occurred to me that one way or the other my three year old would be up and demanding attention is just a few minutes.  If, I reasoned to myself, I could pull myself out of bed and get out the door, I could leave before anyone woke up, and therefor pass the whole morning wake up zoo off on my husband, which is exactly what I did.  I ran a slow, sad 7.5 miles at an 8:30 pace before betaking myself home.  At home, I could not help but think that it is nice I had so much time before I had children to do fun and fancy things, because being in the spit-up trenches seems rather bleak.  

Maybe next year will be my year.