I have my ears pierced although I rarely wear earrings. No matter what type of metal I have tried, they still get terribly infected, and considering I liken my ears to Dumbo, it's probably not the best look for me. There's absolutely no need for me to call any more attention to them.
But that's me. And I'm 31.
But a little tiny baby just doesn't seem to make sense. It takes enough for me to let a strange blood relative hold my baby let alone a complete stranger with a cruddy Piercing Pagoda name badge, really bad fake fingernails, and fourteen golden necklaces shoot an earring through her ear.
And why? So people know she's a girl? Because it's cute?
Won't they play with them? Grab at them? What if they get infected? Don't you have enough to worry about let alone caring for wee diamonds in a wee earlobe?
Why not just get her a really frilly lacy pink dress and call it a day? Because that you can take off and it doesn't involve, you know, a hole in her ear.
But this piercing is serious business. In fact, many moms are taking their kids to the pediatrician to get them done.
Um. Is that covered under your insurance?
So seriously, I say lay off the earrings. Or, if you have to get it done, make sure to take your son as well. I'm all about equal opportunity. And nothing says "cool little hot shot with a wee penis" like a 2 month old boy with a golden hoop.
I'm not quite sure I understand the big fuss over diapers. We all know a toddler shit stinks worse than a southern land fill on a balmy afternoon in August. But in most cases, you can wipe their tiny ass with 4,000 wet wipes in the back of your car and be done with it.
But a tiny finicky toddler who will only pee when Jupiter and Venus are aligned on a her own Dora potty seat with 14 MnMs?
We were on our way home from my Mother's Day extravaganza at my mother's house (read: where I got to take a nap on a recliner without a baby attached to my tit) and I decided that gas under $3 per gallon that someone else pumped for me was too much to pass up. And so, while I was contemplating all the things other than gas that I could use my shiny $50 on, my daughter says to me "Mommy, I have to pee."
Now, if you're potty training or have potty trained, then you know that in certain circumstances, like when you're home and the clean bathroom with toddler-ass sized potty seat is within close proximity, the warning of the impending pee is an amazing achievement worth extra lollipops and tons of praise.
But when you're sitting in a car alone with your baby in the backseat at a scary looking gas station, it's not really what you want to hear.
Quickly ruling out the "drop 'em and pee on a rhododendron," I asked the friendly gas pumper where I might find a bathroom. Much to my chagrin, he pointed to a rickety white building that literally looked as if it might fall over if someone blasted ass in there.
"I'm sure it's immaculate and smells of roses," I told myself, quickly parking my car next to it, grabbing my screaming blanket-eating son out of the car, and reminding my daughter every other second "Just hold it honey. Just hold the pee-pee in."
Now it's one thing to attempt the public pee without scarring my daughter for life with my obsessive rants that include such phrases as "Oh Jesus do not TOUCH anything including that cute little metal box that you think is for coins." With the pre-emptive "you're going potty damnit even if it's like squeezing water out of a rock" type pee, there's plenty of time to whip out the handy dandy pack o' 6 toilet seat covers and small bottle of 409 I keep in an antibacterial bottle so no one except God knows I'm nuts, and hold my 26 lb toddler at least 2 inches above the toilet seat so absolutely no part of her skin goes anywhere near it.
But with a toddler doing a weird tribal dance in a bathroom that reeks of death, you just drop the trou and go for broke.
Still hovering at 2 inches above the toilet seat, of course.
Feeling quite successful with my quick thinking self, I went to grab for toilet paper only to find nothing.
Not one damn piece of paper product in that whole fucking bathroom.
So I did what any good mother would do.
I took off my brand new $45 Tommy Hilfiger shirt, wiped my daughter's ass clean with it, and walked clear back to my car in a breastmilk-stained white nursing tank.
Besides almost poking the gas pumper's eye out with my nipples, I'm pretty sure that I gave even the kind folks in China a lovely Mother's Day surprise.
No, that was not a meteor you saw. That was Kristen Chase's nipple.
But, let's look on the bright side.
At least she didn't need to take a shit.
And this is the funniest thing I've seen in a very long time. Thanks New Girl.