Onesie explosion

Me: Holy over-consumption, Nola! You sure do have a lot of onesies!

BabyLady: Um, mom? Would that be because you just bought fifteen of them?

Me: Yeah, but, Nola! You can't pass up a pack of five onesies for $8!

BabyLady: I'll go along with that. But three packs?

Me: Er, well, one pack was the same 0-3 month onesies I just packed away. It's so hard to say goodbye to those cute little outfits. So I guess I was kind of trying to revisit your newborn days with that purchase.

BabyLady: And the other two packs?

Me: Jeez, what is this, the Inquisition? All right, Nola, it's totally true that I didn't need to get those. Or all the Zutano. Or all the Tea Collection stuff. But I'd been slobbering over those designer clothes for months and yet I could never justify spending so much money on a piece of baby clothing that you'd only wear for three months. But if said baby clothing is 70% off...

BabyLady: Yeah, I'm on to you, mommy. It's hard to resist. But weren't you just talking to daddy about how cheap clothing is probably being made by child slaves in China? At $1.60 a piece, I doubt this onesie I'm wearing is feeding a family of four.

Me: Wait. You're a baby -- you can't remember previous conversations!

BabyLady: On the Interwebs I can. And stop evading the question.

Me: Whatever. I might have said that. But you just look so cute in that orange-stripe onesie and the pear-print overalls! For myself, I just don't care too much about clothing these days...

BabyLady: Obviously.

Me: Jeez, already with the smart mouth. Anyway, I guess I do idealize you a bit, with your super-sweet smile and all. I still think happy clothing will actually make you happy.

BabyLady: Mommy, I'm so disappointed. I'm pretty sure one day you're going to tell me repeatedly that happiness comes from actions, not consumerist fantasies.

Me: When you're older and your clothes start getting more expensive, you bet I will!

BabyLady: On the bright side, along with my other outfits you only need to do laundry once every month. That's not so bad.

Me: Sigh... unfortunately, your dad and I would run out of underwear in about one week.


Pauvre Nous*

* This is where I teach Nola French AND how to whine.

Long ago, pre-BabyLady, we had a choice between two apartments. One was kinda small, and kinda dark, and kinda far from the train, but had an awesome gourmet kitchen and central air. The other, the one we chose, was large, very sunny, and right near the L. We loved all the southern exposure windows, even if it got a little hot in the summer. And I really hated central air anyway, having grown up in Maine and gotten used to feeling a part of nature in the summer.

Well. Now we *do* have BabyLady, and boy my outlook has changed. I spend all day now in this hot, hot apartment. Because the rest of the apartment has an open floor plan, the only rooms we can air condition using window units are the two bedrooms. And we're afraid to install AC #2 in the second bedroom because we're not eager to go through all that trouble when, used in conjunction with AC #1, it might blow a fuse. So poor Nola hasn't seen much this past week besides the inside of our 12X14 bedroom.

I suppose I shouldn't complain; some apartments in New York are not much larger than our one little bedroom. And surely many people in Burma/Myanmar would just love to have our problems. But it's humid and I'm cranky, so here goes with a few more complaints:

-- The wonderful southern exposure is made possible by the fact that our entire apartment faces the street. It never really seemed that loud before, but when you've got a 4 month old napping, every rumbling diesel truck, booming car stereo and barking dog could mean the premature end of said nap, and a cranky baby.

-- The quaintly 80's-themed kitchen (mmm... wood laminate... tan tile...) never bothered me until I had to spread out bottles, lunchbox and dinner fixins all on its 6 linear feet of counter space. The floor is permanently filthy; I've tried scrubbing and scrubbing at its darker patches to no avail. Water somehow runs from the dishrack and pools in front of the sink, but I always forget this, leading to a nice, urine-sized stain on the crotch.

-- Filth in general, now that we have a baby, tends to bother me more. Little pieces of Bella litter now seem like enticing choking hazards. Our messy office area, once tucked away in the second bedroom, is now out in the open, in the sunroom, for me to see and sigh over every day. And let's not even speak of the bathroom.

One thing that's almost universally true in America is nobody's ever happy with what they've got. I don't really blame anyone but myself for my less than glamorous apartment hovel. I made a whole bunch of choices that valued being the moment instead of preparing for the future and saving gobs of money. I still stand by those choices: I've had an amazing life and paid attention to every minute of it. I know Charlie feels the same. We would rather be slightly under-privileged in stuff and yet privileged with lots of time for our little girl. It's a hard current to swim against in this country, but we're trying.