If there is any place that needs to sell beer, it is a zoo on Saturday morning in Oklahoma. StrollerFest 2015 was in full effect by the time me and my crew got there at a paultry 11:00. If anything, though, I felt like I was finally fitting in. Normally me and Todd are the only people at the zoo without a stroller full of babies. Now, at long last, I had an excuse to bulldoze the other kids out of the way with my own stroller as I wore yoga pants my mom got me for Christmas from Target.
After drenching Mae in sunscreen, outfitting the stroller, spraying ourselves in the face with water, eating a Clif Bar, mentally scheming what to do just in case the apocaplyse begins, putting Mae in the stroller, macing each other in the face with sunscreen, taking Mae out of the stroller to change her, briefly debating the merits of googling the nearest ATM but foregoing it because the local zoo beer garden probably took credit, we merged with the stroller traffic and began what Todd referred to as The Long Road to the Middle.
In the tepid online search I later did to find out why they don’t sell zoo beers, one such Internet commenter noted, “Of course they don’t sell beer at the zoo. It’s A ZOO. There’s kids around!”
This person has obviously never been out of the country. Or maybe to another person’s house. Or an Applebee’s. Or Texas*.
Someone else who I would also never go to a zoo with wrote, “Why would you need beer at a zoo?”
Good question. I imagine this person must be an Oklahoman, because Oklahomans possess what I can only describe as a meth-like addiction to sweet tea and therefore desire little else when they are standing in line to look at a bear.
Question No. 2: Why are diaper wipes the size of a cocktail napkin?
In the beginning, I tried to do cloth wipes (hahaha!) but that eco-dream died alongside several others, like the one where I strap Mae to my chest while she peacefully sleeps and I puree a round of wheatgrass. I was still able to stick to cloth diapers (during the day, not while traveling, etc. PM me if you want my byzantine code of ethics for what level of socio-economic diaper I use and when.) but I gave up on cloth wipes almost instantly. There is so much no one ever talks about when you have a baby, and that’s probably because 90 percent of it is disgusting. In order for the human race to continue, we must never tell our offspring what it is truly like to raise a child in our modern age. If we did, everyone would have a garden hose with an attachment sprayer on their baby registry, as that has been the most useful item to us thus far.
Question No. 3: How am I supposed to read to a baby that can crawl?
I read a lot of studies that told me that if I didn’t read to my baby, she would grow up to be an emotionally-stunted vagabond unable to develop fulfilling relationships or properly use a semi-colon. I didn’t need a study to tell me how valuable reading is, but I did need someone to tell me how you are physically supposed to go about reading to a kid when she is way more interested in licking my dishwasher, crawling under the futon, pulling over the television stand, etc. So I asked my mom.
“How do you do it?” I asked. “I just end up chasing her around, yelling the words to Brown Bear, Brown Bear.”
“How do you do it?” I asked. “I just end up chasing her around, yelling the words to Brown Bear, Brown Bear.”
“You don’t,” she said. “Just talk to her when you’re putting her clothes on. Like, now we are putting our blue sock on the left foot!”
Fair enough.
Question No. 4: Why are all parents liars?
The fear I see in the eyes of another parent when I ask about their baby. I don’t care, I want to say. I’m not going to report you. I’m not going to judge or taunt or respond with how much better Mae is at holding her bottle. By the way, Mae sucks at that. She sucks at a lot of things, primarily cuddling. The few pictures I have of me holding Mae last for about as long as it takes to take a picture. Usually when I hold her, she is pushing me away, looking around frantically for something else to do, bite, or scream at. She also doesn’t talk, unless you count the way she indeterminately squawks “muh MUH!” like an old Italian woman in a spaghetti sauce commercial.
Question No. 5: Is baby-proofing a sick joke?
Yesterday we bought foam corner bumpers for our TV stand. This morning Mae noticed them and instantly tried to yank them off. Todd and I watched, casually drinking our coffee. Surely our 9-month-old wouldn’t be able to rip them off. She did, and with so much force she fell backward, banged her head on the floor, and started screaming. If that is not the definition of irony, I don’t know what is.
“Eight dollars well spent,” Todd said.
We gave them to Mae to chew on, which the package explicitly said not to do. This is my way of getting back.
When it comes to child rearing it increasingly seems to me like no one knows what is going on. Todd and I are thwarted time and time again whether we try too hard or don’t try enough. Overprotective parents are mocked and told their protective measures will only serve to harm their child indirectly in the future. Carefree parents are told they are playing with fire and risk getting in trouble with authorities.
Question No. 6: Do they make baby pants out of microfiber dusting cloths or should I add this to my list of Shark Tank ideas?
I have so many ideas for Shark Tank (I can’t tell you any of my ideas, unless you want to partner with me. In that case, you should know I’m pre-revenue.) but this winner came to me after the thousandth time I picked up Mae and found her awash in cat hair. The only other option is to build a baby walker on top of a Roomba.
Question No. 6: So, when is a good time to stop screaming profanity-laced tirades, you know like when my cat jumps up on a footstool so she can throw up from multiple vantage points? Or when my cat jumps in the shower with me? Or when my cat sleeps on the dress I set down on the bed that I needed to wear but now have to feverishly lint roll thus making me late? Like, when do babies start picking up on that kind of thing?
No reason. Todd and I don’t do that. Asking for a friend.
* See blog post from a long time ago about Todd drinking museum beers in San Antonio on our babymoon.
