Le Mot Juste—That Wily French Tart

So, I drafted a different blog post than this one. It reads pretty well, I think—it’s got a King County Metro Bus colliding with a bald eagle, and a related joke playing on the bureaucratic fixation with employees getting struck by the proverbial bus. It has a wonderful quiche analogy weaving through it, allowing me to throw up a bunch of random and disparate thoughts, but maintain cohesiveness. Finally, it presents some intelligent and articulate musings about what it means to be a citizen of our fine community.
But, it has nothing to do with mommery, and I really need to focus on my branding if this blog is going to pay for our retirement. So, I scratched the other blog post and now I’m staring at a largely empty Word document with a maddening cursor that I swear is mocking me.

This is where that bubble investment finally pays off.

This may be a good time to resume my quest for the right words to give a mom-to-be that will adequately prepare her for life with a newborn.

What’s that theory or law or motto or whatever that neatly describes the feeling you get when you unearth some new bit of information that was previously obscure to you, but now that you’re aware of it you see it everywhere? It’s not déjà vu… Something to do with Bernie Madoff, I think…
In a completely pointless test of my will power, I’m not going to Google it.
This is also where my blog gets shut down for improper photograhpy of a minor.

Anyway, once I began my quest for les mots justes for new mamas, I found many other bloggers (dare I call them writers?) have tried their hand at it. Some are blah, like Babble.com’s
7 Ways to Get Ready for Baby, with advice such as, Set Your Alarm! and, Get to know your stroller. (Though I do appreciate hint #6 – Shower like it’s a race.)

Some are droll, like Jason Good’s Great Jobs for New Parent. (The title is misleading; his subtitle says it better: A list of all the awesome new things you’ll get to do after becoming a parent.) He hooked me with the first one: Butter a piece of toast while peeing.

Happily, with some expert cropping, I may just be able to fly under the child-exploitation radar.
I wish I could show you this image full-frame, though. It reveals the Puppy’s grace, which he clearly got from me.
Have you ever considered how much time you waste on the toilet every day? Your hands are free, but you’re just sitting there, doing nothing. Meanwhile, your laundry’s piling up, the refrigerator is empty, and you have twelve skeins of yarn that aren’t going to knit themselves.
Since becoming a mama, I’ve recouped that lost time. I don’t let my toileting needs interrupt play time—just bring your cars on in! Yeah, wow—you lined them up so well, Puppy. Oops! Did you bonk your head? Here let me kiss NO! do NOT unroll the toilet paper yes you can put some in the potty DON’T TOUCH THE STREAM! You need a snack, hon? No prob— I found some raisins on the floor earlier and threw them in the trash can here… et voila! Holy snot bubbles, Batman! Don’t wipe them on my panties, hold on—okay, now it’s in your hair. That’s not a climbing toy, sweetie—both feet on the floor please. Where are your shoes? Okay, go pick out a book and I’ll read it to you. Yes, on my lap.
In fact, I may do my best parenting yet on the toilet.
As with the 11-Step Guide to Children I cited earlier, these recent additions to the What It’s Like to Parent a Baby lore are apt, but they don’t elicit the visceral, crushing emotions I experienced in Puppy’s first three months, and that’s what I’m looking for.

Couldn’t resist this one, though.

I’m beginning to think I haven’t the skill to put it into words. I may require the power of poetry. Yet, aside from my stellar command of the haiku form, I’m not well-versed in poesy.* Anyone have any recommendations? Should I look to the French? Is there a French Plath?

*Get it? Well-versed? Poesy? I kill me.

I’ll tack this one on at the end, just to show we do have clothes for the Puppy.

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