Baby Log 3:45am: I awake from my peaceful (well, for me) slumber, nestled snuggly between Beard, Incubator and Wombmate and realize I want nothing more in the whole wide world than to play RIGHT.THIS.MINUTE. I ninja wriggle out from under Beard’s slack arm and army crawl toward Incubator. Upon arrival, I sweetly let her know her (adorable) playmate is ready to begin the day by punching her square in the throat while emitting a death squeal of delight. She shout-whispers a bunch of colorful words that my delicate ears should never be exposed to and mumbles something about it being an hour and fifteen minutes before we have to get up, but hey, what do I know? I’m 9 months old and the world is my (early-rising) oyster. I’m feeling fresh as morning dew on a brand new day after napping a full 45 minutes since my last wake-up.
Baby Log 5:45am: Feeling a wee bit peckish, I (cutely) let Beard know I’m ready for a warm bottle by pulling myself up to eye level with his facial hair. He yelps and seems surprised, but I don’t know why. This is my preferred method of exercise, so he really should be used to it by now.
Baby Log 5:51am: Too late! I changed my mind. I don’t want that putrid bottle of iron fortified crap. Who would drink something so foul, so loathsome? Not I! Despite my clear protests, Beard continues to try and feed me, so I am forced to slap the heated bottle from his hand, spraying the living room decor with milk. Beard laughs, not fully grasping my level of displeasure. So, I arch my back and fling myself from his arms, landing on Wombmate’s neck. She, being the dramatic one of us two, immediately starts crying big crocodile tears. Oh brother, here we go!
Baby Log 5:54am: Incubator, hair frizzed out wildly in a fried halo around her puffy, tired face enters the living room. Shit just got real. Not wishing to die, I turn on the charm and work the room. I hold Wombmate’s hand, I cool, I bat my long eyelashes, I simper, smile and lunge toward my bottle. DELICIOUS! I have no idea why these people want to starve me! I’ve been waiting to eat for hours!
Baby Log 6:21am: Incubator and I have a moment of kissing and yah-yahing back and forth. I give her a high five (Incidentally, why is this lady CONSTANTLY asking me to high five? She must not have a very exciting life!) and together we choose a fetching orange and pink floral number for the day. I LOVE orange and pink ruffles!
Baby Log 6:23am: Through a sequence of unfortunate events, everything is covered in poo. My romper, Incubator’s work badge, Beard’s new never-before-worn pants, Portly Pug’s harness. EVERYTHING IS COVERED IN POO. Of course, I love it. It is warm, soft, pleasingly squishy and fun to squelch through my teeny fingers into my hair. Incubator does not take a picture.
Baby Log 7:20am: Wombmate and I arrive at daycare. There is a little boy in the corner with a wad of snot leaking from his nose, hacking and squalling to beat the band. Concerned, I begin to totter over and offer comfort but am waylaid by a rogue ball. I must remember to always remain vigilant! At any rate, I can’t wait to reach Lil’ Snuffy and lick snot from his face. I’m not sure why Incubator and Beard look so concerned and try to redirect me; even if I get sick, FREE DAY AT HOME, am I right or am I right?!
Baby Log 12:25pm: Beard and Incubator stop by for a fun lunchtime visit. Wombmate and I read with them (They sound every word out super slowly. EVERY.SINGLE.WORD.). It takes forever, but they seem to enjoy it. Incubator snaps the 47th picture of the day, reviews it on her phone, wipes a tear from her eye, shows Beard and hugs Wombmate and me. I’ll say this much for her, she sure seems to get a thrill out of looking at our little mugs.
Baby Log 4:21pm: Wombmate and I are ecstatic to be picked up from daycare. We lazily drift to sleep to the background hum of Beard and Incubator’s chatter. Wombmate quietly poops. Incubator and Beard don’t know it yet, but a little bit of poo has leaked out of her diaper into the carrier snaps. They’ll have fun cleaning that up later. It’ll give them something to do this evening after bath and bottle time.
Baby Log 5:27pm: Incubator feeds Wombmate and me a 100% organic, farm fresh, hormone and pesticide free veggie and fruit blend. It is tolerable, but I’d prefer to snack on a nice mattress or pillow tag. Sigh. Incubator just doesn’t have the sophisticated palette that I do.
Baby Log 6:48pm: Beard plays peek-a-boo with Wombmate and me. It is THE.BEST.THING.EVER. He is hilarious and magically disappears behind his hands a million times! Incubator takes pictures and sneeze-pees.
Baby Log 7:51pm: Wombmate and I play in our bouncy seats, blow kisses to each other and are generally precious. Incubator is there in the background, alternately snapping photos and crying.
Baby Log 8:52pm: I’m supposed to be asleep but it’s more fun to snuggle with Incubator, beard and Wombmate. I love lying there on the floor of our nursery, nestled on their mattress, gazing up at the big empty cribs they seem to think we want to sleep in. Spoiler alert: we don’t! Also, my throat feels scratchy; I better lick Wombmate.