This is going to take some getting used to. I'm used to being able to go and come as I please, do what I want when I want. If I wanted to go somewhere, I'd just grab my cell phone and lip gloss and hit the streets. Those days are gone. Zara isn't really taking a pacifier or bottle yet, so I rarely get to leave her home. So when I got a call from my cousin to take a trip to the City Marker, Zara had to come with me, which isn't a problem really. She's a pleasant baby that I love to be around, but she definitely put an end to my carefree days.
After getting her dressed, packing her bag with a bunch of things I may or may not need, tracking down her car seat and getting it installed in the car, I was ready to go. It wasn't a long ride and we were almost there when she started to wail, big time. I tried the whole "calm her down with my voice" tactic, but she wasn't having it. I had to pull over. So there I was on the side of the road, nuring my daughter in the back seat of a running car. I'm so not used to this.
I guess she had to get that one good cry in, because after that, she went to sleep and stayed sleep the entire time we were at the market. Of course, she decided to wake up when we sat down to eat at a delicious Vietnamese restaurant. So, I began my "holding, bouncing, discreetly nursing, all while trying to eat" juggling act.
That's when I felt it, the gigantic swatch of wet fabric on the back of her shirt. I flipped her over and tried to figure out where all this water came from. (Yes, I thought it was water at first.) It was my cousin, mother of a two-year-old, who clued me in: She had had (drum roll please) her first blow out. I had heard other parents speak of this phenomenon before, but paid it little attention. I was childless then and had no reason to listen to their stories of booboo mishaps. Now I have my own story. Luckily, I happened to have an extra pair of clothes in her bag. I took her into the bathroom (which wasn't child friendly) and managed to get her cleaned up and changed. I wrapped her dirty clothes up, put them in my bag, and thanked the Almighty that her booboo is still relatively odorless. I went back out into the restaurant and ate my now-cold food. It was still good. I was still happy. Just another day as a new mom.
Zara's Mommy,
Nadirah
After getting her dressed, packing her bag with a bunch of things I may or may not need, tracking down her car seat and getting it installed in the car, I was ready to go. It wasn't a long ride and we were almost there when she started to wail, big time. I tried the whole "calm her down with my voice" tactic, but she wasn't having it. I had to pull over. So there I was on the side of the road, nuring my daughter in the back seat of a running car. I'm so not used to this.
I guess she had to get that one good cry in, because after that, she went to sleep and stayed sleep the entire time we were at the market. Of course, she decided to wake up when we sat down to eat at a delicious Vietnamese restaurant. So, I began my "holding, bouncing, discreetly nursing, all while trying to eat" juggling act.
That's when I felt it, the gigantic swatch of wet fabric on the back of her shirt. I flipped her over and tried to figure out where all this water came from. (Yes, I thought it was water at first.) It was my cousin, mother of a two-year-old, who clued me in: She had had (drum roll please) her first blow out. I had heard other parents speak of this phenomenon before, but paid it little attention. I was childless then and had no reason to listen to their stories of booboo mishaps. Now I have my own story. Luckily, I happened to have an extra pair of clothes in her bag. I took her into the bathroom (which wasn't child friendly) and managed to get her cleaned up and changed. I wrapped her dirty clothes up, put them in my bag, and thanked the Almighty that her booboo is still relatively odorless. I went back out into the restaurant and ate my now-cold food. It was still good. I was still happy. Just another day as a new mom.
Zara's Mommy,
Nadirah
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