Before we get to what we’re going to get to today, I just need to say WOW. That, and WOW again. You clicked BuenoBaby to number twenty-six!!! on Babble’s 2009 Top Mommy Blogger list! SQUEEEEL!!! Thank you for your votes and thank you for continuing to vote. I don’t know what else to say except if you ever need anything, say like help changing a tire or a Saturday night babysitter, well…I could probably do a Google search and point you to someone who does those things.
Because You. Are. That. AWESOME.
I wish you were here with me now so I could give you a big awkward hug, but since you’re not, I’m sending you an Internet hug…HUGS! You did make me feel all velvety inside.
O.K., now on with the business of over-sharing. Since I assume you stopped by today to read about things like Whitney’s raw upper-lip (caused by an endless river of snot this weekend), or how I was so high on post-delivery narcotics that I forgot to poop for eight days and had to go to the emergency room, I‘ll get right down to it.
Four years ago today, over my OB’s lunch hour, I delivered Whitney. I’m not going to tell you it was a hard labor, or that I threw beverages or small pieces of furniture at Ben. And I didn’t scream like a boiling lobster as I had, eight years earlier, during my natural childbirth with our first daughter, Lexi.
No, this time around, I had a scheduled induction, and a pain-free four hour labor, wrapped-up with only three minutes of pushing. My pelvis was so numb you could have stuck me in the hip with a hospital fork and I would’ve probably just asked whether or not you knew how long the cafeteria served lunch.
Oooh, wait, there’s a but. And a butt. And a latex glove.
Wow, I don’t even know where to start. It happened so suddenly really.
We’d planned a quick trip to the zoo this morning. A “touch and go” we called it. Then in the afternoon I was to write a quick little “how-to-make a Michelada” post. I promise to get to the beer for breakfast part of the story, but first I just need to tell you what it feels like to see your daughter covered in gorilla crap.
As I’ve written here before, I don’t like the zoo. Not only the zoo here in Mexico, but any zoo. I don’t discriminate. I won’t drone on and on about it more than I already have, just know I don’t like the zoo anymore today than I did yesterday. In fact, I probably like it less. But we have visiting friends (Dani and her baby from Wisconsin) and my kids like the zoo, so it was on this week’s “places to go and things to see” list.
So, we were at the zoo. The zoo my kids love (in particular the zoo train) because they’re able to get really close to the animals’ cages, in particular the monkeys and gorillas. They’re housed in out-door cages within feet from the viewing areas. This close proximity to these animals appeals to small children who need to be continuously reminded, “Let me hold your hand so it doesn’t get bitten off.” Because I’m serious, they could be bitten off. So we’re standing a “safe” distance away from the gorilla cage. There are two gorillas sitting and facing outward looking at us. My kids and I are sharing this moment with these gorillas and I’m like, “Wow, this is why people like the zoo.” We’re eye to eye with these gorillas, and their stares are so pensive. I’m remembering things I’d read about Jane Goodall and her work with gorillas, and I’m connecting with these gorillas. I’m so in awe of God’s creatures and evolution and the significance of the gorilla…and then I notice it.
