Goodbye, Baby

Never Forget.

2 years ago this very day, I gave birth to the Angriest little jellybean the world has ever witnessed. We immediately began calling her Angry Baby. Since then, Doctors, Nurses, innocent bystanders and deserving family have all fallen victim to her burning hot rage.

As of today Angry Baby is no longer a baby, she’s an Angry toddler.

Oh sure, I’ll still call her Angry Baby because let’s face it: once a human has incubated in your ladyparts, you’ll forever consider them your baby.

For all intents and purposes, we officially say goodbye to babyhood today. It’s been a bizarre foray into a strange land filled with, nut jobs, a metric ton of humility, and embarrassing lingo.

Why the f*ck is it called a “Boppy?”

When it all started, the brutal schedule of attempting to please a newborn (spoiler alert: you can’t) rendered Lover Fo’ Life and I robotic shells of our former jazzy, younger, more rested, selves. For someone so tiny, an infant packs a real punch to the kingmaker and Crown Jewels. Before we knew it, the tiny-baby phase transitioned into a much more livable routine of 4-5 hours of sleep at a time.

The rest of her 1st year went quickly, mostly because you lose track of time when you’re fending off nosey stranger’s unsolicited advice and the constant barrage of milestone anecdotes.

“Is your kid walking yet? My child was at 4 months!”

“Little Clovis was speaking full sentences at just under a year, how many words does yours know?”

“Feed her some raw garlic to improve mucous output.”

“WE only choose organic vaccinations that are administered in a free-range pediatricians office.”

In a flash, we were the proud owners of our very own, One-year old…

One year old and already rockin’ a sweet ‘stache. (Note: this photo was NOT staged, the icing nose neighbor appeared on its own!)

And the 2nd year raising baby? Well, let’s just say (in a wizened old fisherman’s gruff): “The time, she flies.”

On this day, I bid farewell to the long strange trip through a myriad of vomit, tears, shotgunned feces and fears. In store for our near future? The terrible twos (spoiler alert: they’ve already started) and Toilet training.

This claptrap hobo parlor of a website started as a way to reach out and crush postpartum depression and is now the internet’s leading site for booze-soaked fart jokes and Megalodon speculation. Dreams do come true, reach for the stars, kiddies!

So while we say sayonara to the school of hard baby knocks, you need not fret my darlings, I’ll never stop sharing the humiliations and slights of parenthood. Because let’s face it, when it isn’t YOU getting your clocked cleaned by a freakishly strong and Angry Baby/ Toddler, this sh*t is hilarious.

Afterall, there’s nothing more satisfying than laughing at other people’s misfortune. ESPECIALLY when said victim is a deserving villainess and self-confessed “Grade A Jerk.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Angry Baby! The world can’t wait to witness all of the thrills spills and chills your “terrible twos,” hold.  You are loved and feared by the loyal subjects, including your two trained monkeys proud parents.

Love,

Moms

PS: Did I mention we threw a 4 hour screamathon birthday party for her this past weekend? I’ll give you one guess as to how it went…those who guessed “terribly,” are the winners!

I’ll tell you all about the whole sordid affair tomorrow.

We were not amused.


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