17 November 2006

Day Seventeen - Fussy Friday

No, not Fussy. Fussy, like baby fussy. The Boog and I were kind of cooped up today with the prospect of rain. We tried and failed to acquire a rain guard for the stroller on Wednesday. Sold out at the store. Bummer. I was too chicken to go out without it.

A cooped-up Boog is a fussy Boog. We played the "move Boog from Activity A to B to C to D and back to A, all in 20 minute intervals" game for the majority of the day. His marathon naps at 9am and 12:30pm lasted 15 minutes and 20 minutes, respectively. We finally braved the outdoors, to the delight of us both, and met some of the moms from our group at a cafe a couple blocks away. Thinking I would get a break from Fussy Boog, I grabbed a paper and a coffee and took a seat, waiting for the other moms to arrive with their boogs. He sat beside my chair in his stroller, quietly occupying himself with Mr. Carrot. For about fifteen seconds. Then he discovered that if he screamed! at the top of his lungs! it echoed in the high ceilings of the cafe. Super! This is fun, being the parent of the screaming baby in the cafe. I wondered to myself what kind of parent I would be if he ends up being the tantrum-throwing toddler in the department store a couple years from now.

Mom #1 shows up and the Boog greets her with a hearty squawk. Ditto for Mom #2 and 3. Then more squawking. I imagine that most people in the cafe are thinking to themselves, "Can't she shut that kid up?"

The Boog is in my lap at this point, as I frantically attempt to distract him with toys. Each new toy produces an excited squawk. In my desperation, I hand him my cell phone (something I, as a new mom, had on my list of "not for Boog" items). Another emphatic squawk. I remove all toys and cell phone from his sight. He proceeds to arch his back and attempt to slide off my lap and down my legs to the floor. Like I'm going to let that happen. What exactly did he think he would accomplish on the floor? He can't crawl yet, and there was nothing but table and chair legs on the floor. Silly Boog. More arching. A whine. I try nursing him for a bit. He's too interested in everything BUT the boob. I bounce him up and down in my lap. I hold him over my head in spaceship fashion. He smiles and sticks his tongue out at me. A long stream of drool spills out of his mouth where it has been collecting for the past half hour, onto my face below.

At least the squawking stopped. I sit him next to Mom#3's baby and they examine each other's ears in exquisite detail. The Boog grabs her ear and locks his tiny hand in a fist. Ow. We separate the babies. Mom#1 calls it a day and leaves in order to put her boog down for a nap. Mom#2's hubby shows up and they leave for a restaurant. Mom#3 and I pack up our stuff and leave with our strollers. The Boog stops fussing. We walk home.

This is where I remind you, Reader, that I am not a writer, I am an accountant and now also a new mom. The reason I remind you of this is because I have no way to humorously end this story. We got home, I put him in his highchair while I did some dishes and sang Old MacDonald to him while he fussed some more. Sheesh. At least he went down for the night with no protesting.

Happy Friday everyone!

2 comments:

sasha said...

That fussy screaming is adorable compared to what you're in for.

I had to abort a shopping trip this weekend, only ten minutes in, because Sam was NOT HAVING IT.

I don't have any humorous way to end this comment. I'm just hoping that it gets better sometime between now and when they move out.

Eva said...

I'm told that for three days when they're twelve, they're kind of cool.