Oh my, how things change. That’s life, I know. We are born, we get old, we die. The end. In the middle of all of that are a lifetime of changes, but none greater than a mom with babies vs. A mom with “kids”.
Going to the doctor with a baby is a great example of this. Did he sneeze? I should call the doctor. His face feels cold. Should I call the doctor? His foot looks weird. I’m calling the doctor. That cough sounds ominous. I better call the doctor. What is that spot? Oh my God, what is that spot? Does he have cancer? That’s a melanoma, isn’t it? Isn’t it!! Or is that measles? Pox? Did you take the baby into poison ivy?! I’ll be there when they open! Does his breathing sound funny to you? I’m calling! His yearly checkup is in four months, I better make an appointment.
On the flip side, going to the doctor with kids: Spray some Windex on it.
I’m kidding, but I do love that movie. Anyway, I generally don’t go to the doctor now unless I’m relatively sure the next step would be CDC involvement. Which reminds me, I need to make a yearly checkup appointment for an April 1 birthday.
Speaking of birthdays, birthdays with babies and littles are so fun. I put more effort into planning my first born’s first birthday party than I did for my own wedding. It was truly amazing and something he will remember for a lifetime because everyone knows one-year-old babies are like elephants when it comes to memory retention.
As they get older the birthday parties aren’t quite as much of a production, mostly because I lost interest in them when I didn’t get to have fun themes anymore. Barnyard Party, Policeman Party, Construction Party, Bug Party…I will plan that thing and it will be talked about for years to come. Now you want a Nerf War/X-Box/Run Around The House Driving Everyone Crazy While Shoving Candy In Your Face Party? I’m out.
Lately I’ve been trying to encourage fun outings or trips in lieu of birthday parties, and my latest proposal was a bit more drastic when that didn’t work. Cash. Cold hard cash. I literally bribed my son into not having a party. He negotiated a bit with me, but in the end I came out the winner, both financially and mental-health wise. Spending less plus I get to keep my sanity plus the floor doesn’t get cake smashed into it equals Victory.
I know that sounds cold, but let me explain. Parties at this age are just the worst. You spend tons of money on food and decorations, invite a boatload of kids, nobody bothers to RSVP so you have to plan for a party from anywhere from 1 to 40 people, and then you risk nobody even showing up, damaging your kid for life and eating a sheet cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next six days.
On top of all that, I wouldn’t even get to pick out his outfit to wear at the party because I am not allowed to do that anymore. Long gone are the days I got to dress my little boys in adorable clothes because now if it doesn’t have an Under Armour or Nike (in desperate times) logo on it somewhere it may as well go in the trash can.
Oh well, I can hold out hope that maybe soon UA will release their new line of sailor outfits and plaid shorts.