I'm that mom who after Annika drenched herself in spit up, changed her outfit. I tried wiping it off, thought about letting it air dry and then I put my hand on her little chest and realized how wet she got herself. We were sitting in Sunday School and I changed her into my spare outfit from the diaper bag (not the first time I've used the spare outfit on a Sunday, apparantly she likes to do damage on Sunday mornings).
I'm that mom who cringed and giggled a little, a few minutes later as she filled her pants, quite loudly. Loud enough to make the people around us giggle.
I'm that mom who cringed and giggled a minute later as she let out a man-fart that resulted in more giggling around us. You know the farts, the ones that the baby lets out but it leaves you wondering who it really was.
I'm the mom that dutifully took my sweet girl out of Sunday School to change her diaper.
I'm that mom who cringed as I put my hand in something wet oozing out the side.
I'm that mom who realized she had one outfit soaked with spit up and one outfit with poop. And that it left no outfits. No onesies. Just a diaper and a swaddling blanket.
I'm that mom who bummed a onesie off another mom in the nursing room.
I'm that mom who dressed her first daughter after three sons in a boy onesie. A brown boy onesie. A brown boy onesie that said "handsome".
I'm that mom who put her pink bow on with the brown onesie that said "handsome". And then wrapped her in the swaddling blanket.
I'm that mom whose son ran around the therapy center wearing a diaper and a shirt for two hours on Monday.
I'm that mom who thinks I should start carrying more clothes in my van.
I'm that mom that probably won't.