Everyone has a nemesis, whether you are a superhero or a regular person. My nemesis used to be Comcast, although lately I’ve been open to diplomatic reconciliation. My son currently has two: nuts and bubbles.
One morning, not too long ago, I gave him a Lazy Mom breakfast of peanut butter on graham crackers. He’d had peanut butter plenty of times, and I, loving peanut butter myself, was thrilled that he had avoided the dreaded nut allergy. Five minutes after breakfast, he smiled at me. A purple, splotchy, allergenic smile. Son of a beeswax — the nut allergy was all over his face.. The rest of the day went a little like this–
Phase 1: Nut abatement
- Administer Benadryl to fend off anaphylaxis.
- Splotches go away. Call pediatrician and get appointment with allergist.
- Realize that naptime is way late. Figure that between the Benadryl and being overtired, he’ll sleep like a champ. The second of my wrong assumptions for the day (the first being, “Hey! Peanut butter for breakfast sounds like an awesome idea.”).
- He sleeps for 20 minutes. Crap.
- Decide that a bath is in order. It’s relaxing! It’s fun! I’ll add the bubble bath that I was saving for Christmas, and he’ll have a blast. Heck, I can get in the tub, too, and finally get clean myself! (There will probably be a whole future blog post dedicated to how little one gets to shower when you have two kids under a year old.) All of this fun and relaxation will surely make him sleepy and he’ll take a killer afternoon nap. I am a genius Mom.
Phase 2: Bubbles are
fantastic! Satan’s minions!
- Put newborn in bouncy seat next to the tub.
- Put oldest son in tub with bubbles. Screaming ensues like I have lowered him into the gaping maw of a man-eating shark.
- Ask myself series of frantic questions: Is the water too hot? Am I accidentally scalding him? Feel the water — nope, feels okay. Have I lowered his tiny keester onto a bed of underwater nails? Nope — don’t see any sharp objects in the tub, so I get in myself and hope that he’ll calm down once I show him how much fun the bubbles are.
- Scoop up some bubbles and put them on my hand. Blow them off my hand towards him. His eyes widen in abject horror, tiny mouth forms a giant O and the screaming turns panicky. Because I don’t get the hint the first time, I try again. Even louder screaming. My son is awash in blood-curdling terror. From bubbles.
- Bathtime obviously over. Pluck him from Tub of Doom and put his soggy feet on the bathmat. Haul myself out, turn around to pull the drain plug to see that he is peeing all over the floor.
Phase 3: I surrender
- Dry and dress son in comfy jammies, even though it’s 2pm.
- Carry newborn in bouncy seat back to the living room.
- Curl up on couch and cuddle with bubble victim, who is out cold in less than five minutes.