But nobody ever warned me not to pose next to a baby.
Last weekend we gave S. a bath, and then I took a shower, which is the real shocker. Feeling impossibly fresh and clean and pure, I allowed Jeff to capture the Precious Moment on camera.
|Even his tits are bigger. Sigh.|
Baby: Skin as creamy, unblemished and soft as top-shelf Brie.
You: The discolored leather used to make knockoff handbags at Payless.
Baby: Clear, piercing eyes.
You: Rheumy, pink orbs speckled with dust and--probably--Oreo crumbs.
Baby: Adorable button nose.
You: Lumpy, sun-stained and blood vessel-blossomed schnoz that is at least twice as big as when you last checked.
Baby: No teeth.*
You: Crumbling, wine-splashed reminders that it's been a year since your last cleaning.
Baby: Chubby little hands with dents for knuckles.
You: Horrifying geriatric hands with pulsating veins and giant, arthtritic joints.
Baby: Smooth temples.
You: Crow's feet that NASCAR could use for its next superspeedway track.
I've learned my lesson. When you look back through your albums, son, this is why Mommy isn't in them. Don't let Daddy claim she was too busy pooping.
*Actually, S. ALREADY HAS A TOOTH. And another breaking through. At THREE MONTHS. This is what my bagel-stealing** hath wrought. Also I just found out I have hyperthyroidism, so I didn't actually lose the baby weight because I am genetically blessed, or because Jesus loves me and wants me to have more cheeseburgers.
**Yes, I am going back today to give them the money. I don't need this on my conscience, or on my karma. DO YOU HEAR ME, BAGEL GODS? I AM SORRY, OKAY???
Also, yes, I know this photo is fairly adorable. I just have to be self-deprecating; it's my spirit animal. You understand.