Just now I was petting Belle and Angus, Kegel-ing, and surfing the Internet, all at the same time. No wonder I have trouble calming down enough to sleep at night.

I have a lot of experience with kids. I took care of my two older nieces, now ages 17 and 14, for a whole summer, everyday, when they were four and two. I worked in a daycare two years later and took care of twelve two-year-olds by myself. I also babysat throughout middle school and some of high school.

And yet, there are still weird, random things that surprise me about motherhood. I have held many babies. However, I have never held any while wearing nursing clothes. Until now. Consequently, I had no idea that my son would constantly stick his foot down the front of my shirts and, upon occasion, wiggle his little piggies into my nursing bra and tickle my right boob with his left foot. Why do none of the books mention boob-tickling??

Well, I finally did it. I walked outside with my boob hanging out of my top. I had finished nursing Max, but I wasn’t completely sure he was done. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to one of the girls being out that I didn’t notice after awhile. Luckily, the exposed side was pointing towards the house and Max was providing cover. Also, I didn’t stray far from the front door.

The weirdest thing by far, though, is that I wasn’t that shocked or mortified. I just kind of laughed and walked back in the house. Not even that quickly. In fact, I was already thinking about what a good story it would make. However, I didn’t get to tell it to anyone but Chris at first, because I kept forgetting that I did it. How do you forget that you walked outside with your boob hanging out of your top??

Chris: “Santa cone enjoys watching me pee.”

It’s mostly Kittymomma guilt today. I feel guilty for saying, “Damn you, Fort!” when he jumped in the crib as I was trying to put Max down for a nap. Not to mention the fact that I damned him last night when he was chasing Belle around the bathroom while I was trying to get ready for bed at 12:30.

I also feel guilty for saying, “Jesus, Max, that hurt!” when he pulled my hair whilst screaming, just as I tripped over the ottoman while attempting to put him in his carrier.

Yes, Mommy can be a potty mouth. But my dad was a potty mouth and I turned out ok. Except that I’m a potty mouth.

Motherhood is wonderful but, as we all well know, there are plenty of aspects to complain about at times. One descriptor I haven’t heard frequently is “boring”. I’m talking boredom for both mother and child here. I don’t know if that’s exactly the right description, but bear with me here. I am going somewhere with this.

I love spending time with my son. However, he is four and a half months old and a boy. He can’t walk or talk and his interests are pretty much still limited to eating, sleeping, pooping, and bright, shiny, sparkly things. (That last one was a relatively recent, very welcome addition.)

Now that he is awake more and more aware of the world, he wants more attention, although he is capable of amusing himself at times. (OK, OK, maybe he amuses himself at times by watching reruns of 7th Heaven that I just happen to want to watch.) This isn’t a problem most of the time. Usually, feeding and dressing him and me and getting him down for his naps takes up plenty of time. Add in some walks around the neighborhood, Itsy Bitsy yoga sessions, or the occasional errand, doctor’s appointment, or weekly visit to my sister’s house, and we have a pretty full schedule.

Lately, we have been having wintry weather (for Austin) and he has been eating faster. What’s a mom to do when she can’t take the baby outside, she doesn’t even want to think about going to the mall, and he doesn’t want to do Itsy Bitsy Yoga or play with his toys? What do you do when you find yourself looking at your baby and thinking, “What am I going to DO with you until your next nap and/or feeding?” Suddenly, you realize that, as a thirty-year-old woman, you really don’t have much in common with a four-month-old baby boy, except for your love for each other and, of course, 7th Heaven.

Thank goodness, I found lists of games by age on Baby Center. Not only do I have new ways to amuse my son, but I have a new idea for a blog entry: “How to Revitalize Your Relationship by Putting Funny Things on Your Head.”

feel the need to dig their claws in to your knee when sitting on your lap? I am not going to suddenly stand up and dump you off my lap and, even if I did, you would land on your feet.

Why do humans feel the need to endure tiny little claws boring their way in to their knees? Furthermore, after enduring this subtle form of torture until forced to get up and risk mortally wounding your cat’s tender feelings, why must we stand up, slo-o-o-wly, inch by painful inch, gently urging, “Sweetie, you really have to get off of Mommy’s lap now” while “sweetie” hangs on until they are almost perpendicular to the floor? How is it we recognize the insanity of this, yet still give in to it??

It is weirdly satisfying to scoop a seemingly pristine litterbox (Is there such a thing?)  and find a whole pile of poo my cats industriously attempted to hide from me. I feel like I’ve solved a puzzle. It’s a small triumph.

“There’s just no getting around it. It’s like a big wheel of poo.” (Me describing the inner workings of the Litter Locker.) I think I might have hit on their new slogan. Or a really gross game show.

I think it’s shameful that Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day isn’t marked on all of the calendars anymore. (I don’t think it’s a national holiday, but that’s what it used to say on my calendars.) I know it was 68 years ago, but it still seems as if it should be properly commemorated. It changed the course of history for America and the world. Thoughts? Are there equally important events missing from the calendar that I am forgetting? Will the events of Sept. 11 fall out of the general public consciousness within a century as well?