Three months and too much vodka

Gloria turned three months old on Saturday.  The only real change that I’ve noticed is that she weighs more (I can barely lift the car seat with her in it) and that she’s losing her hair in a hilarious George Costanza pattern.  I tried to get Mike to let me order a Donald Trump baby wig to remedy this issue, but he seems to think that $24.99 for comedic value is a waste of money, even though I was able to mathematically prove to him that the pictures would be priceless. 

I’ll show him with my upcoming surprise involving Gloria and handlebar mustaches.

She’s getting stronger every day.  I overestimated her, though, and tried to use the Bumbo seat.  The result was her slooooowly falling sideways, then deciding that while she was down there she may as well see what Bumbo chair tastes like.

This past weekend we took Gloria for her first road trip back home to visit my parents.  She did remarkably well.  She spent most of her time babbling to the stuffed bird hanging from her car seat and trying to figure out how to eat her rattle.  She has the determination down, but unfortunately not the logistics. 

She also got to meet her great-grandma.  It made me so happy to see them together.

I, however, did not fare so well.  My sister and I went downtown on Saturday night.  It was supposed to be for a couple of drinks, but I accidentally left my good judgment at home and had five too many vodka and tonics.  This was a lot of fun until the next morning when I had to get up, on three hours of sleep, for a seven-hour car ride.  With a fussy baby.  And a stomach full of ice cream and pickled sausage.  (I’m not even going to try to justify that one.)  Even this all seemed fine and bearable (no hangover!) until the lack of sleep and presumable dehydration acted like steroids for my motion sickness. 

Contrary to popular myth, going out and having fun does not stop with parenthood.  What does change is the consequences.  If you’re child-free and you find that a few too many drinks accidentally fell down your throat, you cancel your next day’s obligations.  But you can’t tell your baby that her needs are going to have to wait until you can stand up.  You can lie face-down in bed and fantasize about doing so, but eventually you’re going to have to get up and feed her.

Yesterday the three of us went over to Mike’s parents’ house for dinner and recuperation.  We looked at Mike’s baby photos and found that Gloria has Mike’s identical giant baby head and smile.  The kid looks nothing like me.  If I didn’t have fairly strong proof otherwise, I’d think that he went and made a baby with another woman.

Daddy.

Gloria.