This weekend we finally got around to buying a crib and holy crap are those things gigantic or what?! A ten year old can fit in that freaking thing. It has completely and utterly taken over our bedroom. So now, we’re mourning the loss of our lusty love shack, our steamy sex cove, our…who am I kidding? That room has always been as unexciting as a monk’s library. But at least before it didn’t look like a daycare center! Nothing says romance like a heap of pink onesies piled onto a stroller, sitting in the middle of your bedroom.
In any case, this got me thinking about all the other changes we’ll need to make in the apartment over the next few months: this place is a DEATH TRAP. Between the electric cables lining every wall, the tall unstable lamps, the razor sharp corners on our furniture and my husband’s 100 pound golf bag balanced precariously beside the bathroom door, I wonder if we might have to lock the baby in our bedroom for the first few years of her life.
AND THEN my wardrobe will also have to undergo a makeover since as a nursing mother I’ll be obligated to whip out a boob at any given moment to breastfeed. So, I’m on the hunt for suitable shirts because can you imagine the commotion that I would cause at Target if I had to strip off an entire sweater dress to gain access to a boob? No, thanks. I’m uncomfortable enough with the notion of breastfeeding in public without adding complete indecent exposure to the mix. In fact, I’ve become so obsessed with this issue that I recently bought this thing that’s supposed to cover your bosom while you breastfeed but do you know what the brand is called? UDDER COVERS. I mean, really? REALLY?
What have I gotten myself into?
(Well, technically I didn’t get into this all by myself, I had some help. And when I say “some” it’s just as a manner of speaking, I don’t mean that the amount of help was negligible. Because it wasn’t negligible, it was significantly large. The amount of help, that is. You know what I mean. Crap. I’ll stop talking now.)