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Stop… Baby Time!

Candy's Column

Stop… Baby Time!

The moment I became a parent, my clock’s hands and numbers were replaced with my baby’s face smirking, “You’re running on MY time now, bitch!”  I used to get irritated with my newly parental friends who were always running at least twenty minutes late.

They KNOW the kid’s going to set them back so why don’t they plan ahead? I would wonder while putting those people on my “Formerly Fun and Punctual Friends Who Are Officially Dead to Me” list.

Yeah, well, turns out that “planning ahead” nonsense…?  Easier said than done.

This column has been sitting on my computer screen, half-written, since last night.  The plan was to have it posted by this morning.  Ha, haaaaa!  Skylar had other plans for me, falling asleep on my chest after her early morning feeding and forcing me — Yes!  She is a bully like that! — to succumb to her ridiculous cuteness and cuddle with her in bed all morning.  After all, this snuggly phase isn’t going to last forever so I need to take advantage while I can — today she’s snuggling, tomorrow she’s standing outside a Wawa convenience store assuring her best friend, a skinny Indian teenager, that YES, his fake I.D. with the overweight 40-year-old black dude looks EXACTLY like him, so stop being a pussy and go buy us those wine coolers already!

*AHEM*  Let’s hope Skye doesn’t take after her mom.

If it’s not Cuddling Time, then it’s Feeding Time.  If it’s not Feeding Time, it’s Pooping Time.  If it’s not Pooping Time, it’s Screaming Because I Damn Well Feel Like It Time.

You see where I’m going with this.

And Skylar is a well-behaved baby.  My heart goes out to parents of colicky newborns.  However do they do it?  They must have the patience of the saint and flexible schedule of a U.S. Senator.  If not?  They must have the liquor cabinet of a Hilton Sister.

The fact that we’re always a step behind these days just KILLS Mr. Candy.  He is one of those people who shows up to client meetings so early that the building is not even open yet.  Yes, yes, he sits out in the parking lot, tweaking his Fantasy Football team on his BlackBerry until the sun rises and the rest of the SANE world wakes up to join him.  I was afraid the time we were a half-hour (!) late to Skylar’s doctor’s appointment — who knew a small trip down the road would require bringing along SO MUCH FREAKIN’ STUFF?! — would throw him into convulsions.  Thankfully, he only suffered from a mild case of the shakes.

Even with Mr. Candy thoughtfully taking Skye for a walk now so I can focus on writing, I am forced to hurry because I gotsta get ready for my six-week postpartum check-up.   No rest for the weary (and unshowered — ew).  I suspect this check-up is going to be a Catch 22.  The good news:  I’m healthy!  The bad news:  I no longer have a doctor’s excuse for avoiding the gym!

Hmmm… That “Baby Time” excuse may finally come in handy.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Hugs, kisses and doctor-mandated squats (insert sad face here),

Candy

Because sharing is caring, as I tell my kids. (Except my wine. Never my wine.)
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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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