Our one-year-old doesn’t like saying goodbye to Mommy. Even if he doesn’t need her for anything specific, and even if he is happily playing with Daddy or Big Brother, he likes knowing that Mommy is at hand. Daddy can do everything for him that he needs done, but it’s hard to put 100% faith in somebody who doesn’t have boobies. Everyone knows that boobies are where parenting knowledge is stored, which means if Daddy forgets how to do something, he’s got no place he can go to look it up.
Thus, whenever Mommy leaves the house, she takes the entire archive of tips for keeping little boys happy and comfortable with her. She also takes a couple of really comfortable snuggling pillows, but that’s of secondary concern. The important thing is she’s leaving a fragile little boy in the hands of some dude who is likely to forget the recipe to baby’s comfort at any moment.
When Mommy needs to run an errand, she sometimes finds herself slipping out of the house quietly, to preserve the little boy from any unnecessary anxiety. This is what she thinks she’s doing. What she is actually doing is deferring the unnecessary anxiety until the child is completely in the care of a man whom the boy recognizes as wholly devoid of appropriate reference materials, since Mommy always carries those with her.
Whenever our little boy realizes he hasn’t seen Mommy for a while, he runs toward the door to the garage, since that is Mommy’s most likely escape route. If Mommy has gone out, Daddy needs to take some time to reassure the boy that he does indeed remember how to feed and diaper a child, notwithstanding his flat, bony chest. The boy always recovers his composure, but it can be an unpleasant 10 minutes of distress.
If Mommy is just someplace else in the house, Daddy only needs to make the boy understand that, or, as in the most recent case, let him figure it out for himself.
We have a low counter beside the door to the garage. Sometimes, Mommy sets her purse on this counter. Last time the boy went to the door chasing a missing Mommy, he saw the purse sitting upon the counter. The purse was evidence, but it was not definitive proof.
The boy pulled the purse to the floor and opened it up. All the distress melted away from his countenance as he plucked out Mommy’s cell phone. This was proof. Mommy might leave home without her purse, but she would never ever leave her phone behind. A phone doesn’t make such a good snuggling pillow, but then grown-ups do have crazy ways.
He took the phone and climbed the stairs. He heard the shower running so he pounded on the bathroom door. When Mommy opened the door, he handed her the phone. He understands how troubling it is to be separated from your comforting boobies of knowledge.
Now, everybody could relax.
Boobie…they are real and they are spectacular.
Be careful. Those are the first things people look for to break their fall when they stumble in the sauna.
I don’t know why, but this reminded me of a theory I have about angry lesbians and their lack of a penis. I’ve said too much already.
Any time anyone says “a theory I have,” they’ve probably said too much.
By your theory, strippers would be some of the best mothers around, but that’s seldom the case. Is it only for natural boobs maybe?
The exception that proves the rule. Or maybe its all the silicon. Not really an expert on strippers.
I have thought a lot about boobies, but now you have provided me with an whole new perspective, thanks.
You can never have too many perspectives on boobies. They’re magical.
I was a bit alarmed by the hierarchy: little boys need mommies and mommies need cell phones. Where do the daddies fall on this scale? 🙂
When I find out, you’ll be the first to know.
Lol @ Don.
My husband still says (3 years after nursing my last daughter) the girls love me more than him because I nursed them???
Your girls love you more because you would never make them spend a week sleeping in the woods.
Hi Scott, as you may or may not know, I share a blog with a beaver, who has decided to nominate you for a Liebster Award: http://randomnessessities.com/2013/10/29/im-a-beliebster-lester-beavers-acceptance-speech-for-his-liebster-award/
I’m sorry, I’ve been told writing a Liebster blog is a lot of homework. That said, I believe Lester Beaver is totally right in nominating you, so congratulations, whether you choose to accept it or not;)
Thanks, A. Please pass on my profound thanks to the beaver for his nomination. I am humbled that such a dominant web presence should shine his light upon me. It is entirely my fault that he was unaware that I have already received a Liebster nomination. (I really need to find a spot on my sidebar for that badge.) My blog post in response to that first nomination (https://snoozingonthesofa.com/2013/03/14/a-100th-post-party-with-awards-and-everything/) was so half-assed that I don’t believe I should be trusted to create another one. Maybe I can think of some other way to appropriately thank the beaver for his kindness, because I really do enjoy his writing and am truly appreciative of his nominating me.
P.S. I had always envisioned Maggie T. and I standing back to back, dressed in our iron breastplates and wielding our broadswords, fighting off the zombie hordes together. But now that she’s one of them, I guess she’s got to go.
Something tells me Lester Beaver will get the message;)
Please don’t apologize for having already won a Liebster. In fact, it doesn’t surprise me at all.
As for you and Maggie T. fighting off zombies together: I think you just pitched yourself a summer blockbuster there!
Great read, happy to have stumbled upon this blog, now even happier I nominated that Beaver for his Liebster.
It is right and just to honor the Beaver.
Aw…you guys, stop it, you’re making me feel shy. Please don’t make a beaver blush. It’s not a pretty sight, trust me;)
It sounds like we belong to some weird cult worshiping that little damn building scoundrel. “Honor the Beaver” before we down a glass of wine…
If I can substitute a little scotch for the wine then I’m in!
Your lucky! Our little one decided she couldn’t be left in the room alone with me, mum had to be within sight.
There’s no comfort like Mom comfort. For boys, Dad eventually gets to be pretty cool; I assume it’s the same for girls.