TC  and I hit up Target this afternoon. FOH just loves The J. He takes after his mama in this respect. The BF claims that it’s simply not possible for him to know that he loves anything yet, let alone Target. 

To this I say a couple things: your ass wasn’t there to watch his entire face light up as I held up candy and scarves — he definitely preferred the striped one to the non stripes and: WHO DOESN’T LOVE Target? And also: he LOVES ME. Do you see the way he looks at my boobs? THAT IS LOVE. 

Hey, kid knows where his next meal is coming from. No doubt.

In continuing with similar topics discussed yesterday {i.e. spit up in hair}, I have a couple more Mama Hazards to add …

As I was getting my fix of Nate Berkus homewares, FOH had a blow out. At least what sounded like one. I don’t know why the big B’s always surprise me. They just do.

Off we went to the restroom.Now, before I had FOH I could never imagine laying my baby down on one of those nasty Koala Bear or whatever the hell they’re called changing tables. All I could think about when I looked at those was how nastified they were, and the amount of horrific fecal germs that must be laying about.

I swore to myself that I would be that Mother who was so prepared with her Clorox disinfecting wipes that it wouldn’t matter. People, let me tell you — there was no such thing as disinfecting going on today and it never even crossed my mind.

My take on all of this now is along the lines of, to hell with germs, let them build up his immune system!

For having FOH in a public changing area, everything was going quickly. Usually it takes me longer because I’m trying to shuffle around and find something, like wipes, out of my handbag. Or trying to rush because someone is waiting on me, which always then backfires on me and it all happens in slow motion.

But no, this afternoon, I was all over diaper changing. Though not fast enough to get the new one on him before pee started shooting out every which way.

And I do mean every which way. Good Lord. It shot out and hit the side of the sink, the wall, the floor and nailed me well all over the thighs. Not to mention, the nice little puddle that started to gather under his butt, soaking his clothes.

Of course this was the day I did not come prepared with a change of clothes but I figured it wasn’t a big deal. I mean, he’s wearing a padded diaper. There’s no way he can feel wet fabric on his butt with that thing on.

Then as I was leaving Target, I realized my boob had been leaking. Yup. A lovely perfectly round circular spot. Visible to all. No way you could have missed that. The beauty of this is two hours later, People, I completely forget to change my shirt before my yoga class.

I’m hoping the low lighting helped to downplay any nipple attention.

I find all of this completely hilarious. This is life, real life. Not the glossed over kind. It’s leaky boobs and pee sprays and realizing you have mushed newborn poo on your elbow {that actually happens frequently — beware of the arm reach in relation to dirty diaper and feet — those feet get poo covered so quick if you’re not on it}.

It’s messy and at times not so pretty, but it’s real and it’s what’s happening now. And that is beautiful. In its own messy way.