Super mom? Let's hope so.

I don't blog much about being a mom.  It's not because I don't love it, I do.  But I don't really have a lot of fascinating things to say about being a mom.  Approximately 80% of the time, I'm not even sure I'm doing it right.  I follow a "mom's group" on facebook and at least once a day I think, "Oh crap.  Am I supposed to be doing that?"  Then I spend an hour googling whether or not I've neglected my child because I'm not taking her to Gymboree.  But today, I'm going to blog about being a mom.  For those of you who read this blog for sports, general observations, and snark, fear not.  Two of those things are included.

As of 12:40 p.m. today, I am a single parent for the next eight days.  Husband is off to gallivant around Spain.  Jerk.  In all seriousness, I'm thrilled for him and this opportunity.  I'm also excited for my multitudes of Spanish gifts that will accompany his return.  I am, however, freaking out a bit about having ALL the responsibility.  I'm confident in saying that I'm not cut out for this.

I had to stay home with Spencer yesterday morning because she had been banished from daycare.  We got up, had a bottle, ate breakfast, crawled to the dog food bowl six times, played with our little house toy, read eight books, sang songs, watched the dog run around the  house at an incredible rate for God knows what reason, threw our pants behind the changing table, played with our music table, pulled every toy out of the toy bucket and put them back in, twice, and pulled the dog's tail.  Then I looked at the clock and realized it was only 9:15 a.m.  How is it possible to do this much living that early in the morning?  I sent Husband a text that said, "SOS! I don't think I'm going to make it until nap time."  So when the kid went down for a nap, so did I.

There is a strong possibility that I may not survive the next eight days.  I can't even figure out how to break the baby's intense attraction to the dog food bowl.  She must crawl there 84 times a day.  As a result, the dog races to his food every time she is on the move and thus is overeating.  He's putting on weight as a defense mechanism.  Been there before, brotha.  My go-to schtick for soothing the baby is to sing.  I have a four-song set list: Oklahoma! (with arm movements), Ride 'Em Cowboys, and two Pi Phi songs.  When I finish, I start over.  My mom told me I need to learn some lullabies.  She's probably right, but I'm telling you, the gusto with  which I perform my state song and fight song are really a big hit with the 11-month old crowd.

I'm writing this blog for two reasons: 1. It's my passive-aggressive way to get sympathy.  I'm hoping for lots of, "You can do it, Kath!" comments.  If I don't get them, I think that's probably a good sign that you all agree that I may not make it.  And 2. As a warning, in case I show up at one of your doorsteps wearing a bathrobe and curlers in my hair begging for help.  I don't actually own curlers, but maybe I'll buy some to drive the point home.

I shall finish with this hear-felt prayer, "Dear God: Please give the ability to keep track of my child, brush both my hair and teeth every day, wearing matching shoes, keep the dog alive, and have the energy necessary to keep up with Super Baby."  Five Hail Mary's and Amen.