Operating Instructions

I have been reading Anne Lamott's Operating Instructions (a diary of her son's first year) during late night feedings since Lucas was born. I remember when I read this book two or three times pre-parenthood, thinking Anne was a little nutty -- up and down all the time, a little emotionally erratic. Now I get it. Boy do I get it. One minute she is relishing in the beauty of the dolphin-like sounds her son Sam makes and the next she says something like "He is going to have to go."

I had an Anne Lamott moment yesterday. I was changing Lucas's diaper when he decided to have a bowel movement just after the diaper had been removed. This, of course, caused me to let my guard down of protecting him from peeing all over everything (a lesson we have already learned the hard way) and the poor, poor child ended up not only sitting in his own poop but also peeing all over himself, including his face. I kid you not, there was pee pooled in the poor boy's ears. As I stood there in awe, he looked up at me with this look beyond his years (or days, actually) as if to say, "You have got to be kidding me. Get your act together, woman." I was half expecting a knock on the door with someone saying, "I'm sorry. We will have to take him away now. You're not fit to be a mother!" But instead, I laughed a little, stripped him down and gave him a bath, paying particular attention to cleaning his ears. He seems to have forgiven me!