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So time to write seems about non-existent these days. There’s a 6 week old baby in my house. My mother in law is a few paces away. They’re equally demanding and similarly narcoleptic. I’m certain I’ll find some structure at some point, but for the time being I take whatever moments I can to fill my notebook.
It’s late and all of the women in the house have faded into their beds. Behind me the dog is snoring and on TV Rich Eisen is trying to fill time on the NFL network while the league has locked the players out. All I can focus on, however, is the dearth of baby gear that has littered my living room. In the corner I have a baby rocker, a rocking chair, and a baby swing. The rocking chair I take no issue with. It’s like sitting on a pile of pillows, but the pillows rock back and forth. The rocker seems to have little purpose other than to provide another option to the swing. The swing is this massive baby seat connected by a pole to a motor that swings the baby.
In the bedroom we have three apparatuses used for carrying the child. There’s the Moby which is essentially a 50 foot long scarf that you wrap around yourself about 100 times and then stuff the baby into one of the folds the wrap has made. There’s the sling. The sling reminds me of a Miss America sash. It’s wide at the base where you set the baby down. The baby then writhes in discomfort. We also have the frontpack. The frontpack is a backpack that you wear in the front. And in your backpack you just cram the baby inside and then wear it on your chest. And I believe we also have the Baby Bjorn in a box around here somewhere. I can confidently say we are prepared to not carry the baby.
On the refrigerator we have a stack of unopened boxes full of baby stuff we haven’t even gotten to yet. We have a huge crib that the baby hasn’t even been in. We have piles of toys and blankets we haven’t even shown the kid. All of which I’m completely fine with. What is not ok is the baby has five chairs and I don’t have a place to sit. We have four options for holding the baby with no hands, but I can’t keep my beer in any of them. At Pier 1 Imports they have a chair that looks like a cracked open egg and it hangs from a chain. It’s so comfortable you feel like Superman waking up to a naked Lois Lane in Superman 2 – minus Margot Kiddor’s hideousness, of course. But I’m not allowed to have this golden calf because according to one of the females in my house, the thing is ugly as shit. But if I slapped a baby cushion in it, I’d be trying to assemble the thing as I type this. How do I know? Because the swing looks just like it!
Let me sit in the freakin’ swing!