If you saw on Instagram, Mayhem and I went to a friend's birthday party Saturday afternoon. He was more than happy to sit on my lap people watching and eating pigs in a blanket, but when someone handed him a pink polka dotted balloon he really started to party! I had to explain (several times) that balloons aren't for biting before he got the hang of pulling the string and slapping it around. I haven't been that close to a balloon in years and it made me think back to my days of working at the drug store and realizing just how much I hated those latex, helium-filled personal explosion devices. And that made me think back to figuring out how much I hate Valentine's Day which is coming up very soon. After the presents (toys!) were opened it was so long mama and he crawled off in a hurry to go play.
Sunday was church day and in the name of saving time I had the not-so brilliant idea of washing us both simultaneously. That went over like I had imagined (like a bag of hammers), but not like I'd hoped. There must be something terrifying about warm water falling down on you repeatedly. Or maybe he was still mad about the burning sensation one feels after one has smeared yogurt in one's left eye. I was just terrified I would drop him. I kept imagining my smooth-skinned, hairless baby shooting out of my wet arms like a Vaseline-greased bar of soap and cracking his head on the ceiling. Thankfully, nothing like that happened although he probably has a bruise on those fat thighs from my grip.
Last night when I was trying to get Mayhem to go back to sleep I thought about Jesus as a baby and what it must have been like for Mary. Did His mother have this much trouble with Him sleeping all night? Did she pray to God, "Lord, please make this kid go to sleep!" Was Jesus a "textbook" or "angel" baby? What was it like to raise a child that did not sin? At least she didn't have to worry about Him sneaking out going for midnight joy-rides on the family donkey as a teenager.
Happy Monday, y'all!
