The Bad Parent Chronicles: Armpit Cheese

I know we're not really bad parents.  Not in the "call child services" way.  But some of our rookie mistakes seem like they might be mildly funny to outsiders (and they make us giggle a little too...in a retrospect-y, "this will be a good story to tell to girls he brings home" way), hence "The Bad Parent Chronicles"....

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I was watching old episodes of Jamie Oliver the other afternoon, when I put the baby down in his chair so that I could go to the bathroom.  He was fussing about it, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.  (I haven't figured out how to pee and hold the baby at the same time.  I'm not sure I want to learn.)

I came back a few minutes later to find the Kid cooing and laughing--completely enamoured with Jamie's cooking.  Thoughts:

  1. My kid is already brainwashed by the TV.  
  2. As far as TV people to be brainwashed by, it could be worse.  If he grows up to be a famous chef who drives a scooter and has a British accent...I could live with that.  

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New house rule:  No matter how short the trip, no matter how asleep or happy the baby, we do not leave the house without a bottle at the ready.  

There's about a two hour window between feedings/changings.  Saturday afternoon we had just a few errands to run, the Kiddo had just been fed, and he was completely crashed out.  So, we left the house without a "ba" in the diaper bag.

Big mistake.  

We ran by the feed store, and ducked into Target to return some things.  At that point we were at about an hour and fifteen minutes, and Sweet Husband asked daringly, "Think we can still make it to the grocery store?"  Kid was still snoozing soundly, so I said, "Yes, let's try."

Somewhere 'round the bulk department, he started to wake up.  I finished shopping quickly, while Sweet Husband took the Kiddo to the car to be changed, at least.  By the time I got out with the groceries, we had progressed from fussy to screaming-bloody-murder.

I remember (mostly from when Sweet Sister was little) that the sound of a baby crying is akin to nails on a chalkboard.  It's a biological thing--it sounds horrible, so that we (the grown-ups) will get the child what it needs and it will stop crying.

But someone else's kid crying--even my own sister--is completely different than when it's your own.  It's like, I can't even think when he starts in like that, or at least, I can't think about anything other than getting him food NOW.  

I'm glad that it's a short drive home, and I'm really glad that we didn't pass any police cars on the way!

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The scene: Saturday afternoon.  The whole family is hanging out on the bed cooing at a happy Kiddo, who is giggling because he's been stripped down to his diaper and he loves to be nakie.

Mom (going in for a nuzzle):  *Sniff* Why does he smell like...*sniff, sniff*...Parmesan cheese?

Dad:  *Sniff, sniff* Yeah, he does.  *Sniffing body parts more closely*...It's coming from his armpits.

Mom:  *Lifting up armpits*  Ewww...there are like, milk curdles under there!

Dad:  It's armpit cheese!  K's making armpit cheese!

And then the Kid got stripped down fully and plopped into his bathtub.  Because armpit cheese is taking the bad parenting too far.