THE ONLY TIME IN MY LIFE I'LL GENUINELY WISH I WAS AN OCTOPUS...
You've heard it a billion times- "there just aren't enough hours in the day." While this cliche has certainly rung true plenty of times in my own life previously, I now get to enjoy the reality of the mommy version of this cliche.
"I just don't have enough hands."
Yes, I have the standard two like most homosapiens. But once you become someone else's food source, personal maid, and lifeline, your hands (along with your boobs) suddenly aren't your own anymore. And I miss them. Sure, I could stick him in a carrier or a sling and get the use of my own two hands back, but they wouldn't be enough anymore. It would be like my breasts shrinking from there current size D back to the old B cup. Seems inadequate all of a sudden. Because now that I've become a mommy, I've decided the optimum number of hands to possess would be about eight.
One: Obviously to hold onto the little pain in the ass so he doesn't fall on his head and retain permanent brain damage more significant than the kind he already has.
Two: To perform same task as above, although once he is able to hold himself upright and control his bobblehead, I'll take this hand back and use it to clip my toenails, a task I haven't managed to accomplish since Owen's birth.
Three: This hand is exclusively for the amazing amounts of laundry generated and the time it takes to sort, load, fold, and put away said laundry.
Four: I'd like to reserve this hand just for diaper changes. Why? Because they're gross.
Five: This one is for cooking dinner, doing dishes and all other food related activites, including, once in awhile, actually consuming something myself.
Six: I have to reserve an extra hand for talking on the phone because no matter how much you plan it, people always call when your baby is screaming, your dinner is burning, or your pants are around your feet.
Seven: This is just to rock Owen to sleep and to master the art of laying him down in the exact position he fell asleep in, because otherwise the bastard wakes up because he knows you've snuck off to sip tequila again.
Eight: And this hand, sacred before all others and at the right hand of God himself, is the pacifier hand. Because nothing says shut the fuck up like a big, rubber nipple.
Posted by Kaz at April 5, 2006 3:31 PMDont pick up the phone. If it is that important, they will call you again. I love not picking up the phone, as many phones as I have. Just give it up.
Posted by: Rob at April 9, 2006 1:09 AM