One of the awesome things about parenting is that it's a daily exercise in humility. Whether it's scrubbing poop out of a onesie, answering the door covered in spit-up, or frantically trying to calm down your inexplicably irate baby at the grocery store as fellow shoppers peer down the aisle to make sure no one is being tortured, there's always something to offer up*.
We went back to the babywearers group this morning. I'll admit it, I caved and checked out another carrier. Maybe it will work! Maybe! Oh I don't know. A really good friend of mine recommended trying the back-carry position-- it's the only one her son will do, and he actually loves it. I'm willing to give it a shot.
Anyway, I'm sure I'm a total freak because nobody thought I was awful for failing with the mei tai and probably nobody would have cared if that was my final attempt. I had a really nice time socializing with some of the other moms, and my daughter had fun playing with some of the other kids, especially a couple of 4-year-old girls who are very interested in babies (adorable moment: one of them proclaimed "I think someday we'll have babies, too!").
Lately I've been oscillating between the stay-at-home-bum look and the spring-is-here-even-if-it's-in-name-only-and-I-wanna-look-nice look. Yesterday after Mass I promptly changed into my ugliest, but most comfortable, pair of sweatpants, these old, fuzzy, elastic-around-the-ankle things that my husband and I affectionately refer to as "dowds." So today was ripe for a decent outfit. And, hooray! I have new jeans, purchased last week on clearance! I got those babies out of the closet, cut off the tags with a satisfied flourish, and paired them with a funky sequin-necklined orchid top that I bought a couple years ago at an Indian family's garage sale. Oh, and don't forget the chandelier-inspired earrings I picked out, a must-have for any mom whose child is in the grab-everything-especially-shiny-objects-and-put-in-mouth phase. I felt confident. What a hip mom!
As I sat cross-legged on the floor with my daughter, chatting with the other moms, my hand brushed my thigh and I realized that I still had a long, sticky size tag stuck to my pants. Not one of the clear ones that might have been inconspicuous, either. This one was a nice goldish-brown color, set off nicely by the dark blue denim. Horrified, I quietly peeled it off and stuffed it in my pocket.
*The post I've linked here specifically talks about offering up the pains of childbirth. Trust me, I know exactly what you're thinking, and I'll dish it up SAT-style:
suffering involved in situations I've described : suffering involved in childbirth :: grain of sand : Mount Everest
However! I believe our merciful Father accepts even the tiniest bits of suffering that we offer up to Him. :)