inner sanctum

After the long arduous journey through the awkward adolescent phase, spending college weekends taking love notes after watching Sliding Doors or Return to Me, all the while wrenching through immature (yet educational) break-ups, trying your hand at the love, in love with the romance more than love, finding your true self over time, and then finally, finally, you meet The Mister of the House and everything clicks. No more dating games. No more innocuous romantic comedies. You settle down and watch this other half and eventually come to this: I want to see what you're like as a daddy {eyebrow flirt}.

And then one day you inflate with a blossoming baby and after lots of pain, pain which takes you through the valley of the shadow of death, you're officially on the other side: You're a Mom.

Me : Last Week : Visiting the folks : Hometown : Doin' the church rounds :

First! A Confession: Remember this mug? He's 17 months, just one month shy of being officially eligible for the church nursery. He's still on the teat.


So whether I have a headache, have a hungry baby, or have gas I have a ticket to take a breather in the inner sanctum of the church. The one room with cushy recliners. The room with the hidden door after the last stall in the bathroom. The ever-ready for the multipliers of the earth: The Mother's Lounge.

So back to me : In Idaho : Taking out my Nugget of JOY [above] because he was a Chunk o' Grump : Making my way to my fellow lounging mothers and gearing to rock and love back my sweet baby boy:

Shuffle diaper bag. Shuffle baby. My peripherals catch a fellow mommy with a shiny....yes, shiny baby. Gettin' crazy with the baby oil huh? Hmmm. Steal a double- take only to realize fellow mommy is a high school girl. Rocking a doll.

Nervous laugh. Rocking and rocking. After 10 minutes of silence Mrs. Olsen blurts out: Soooooo, whatchya doin'? Are you in High School?

Here's the deal: 15 years ago when I went to the high school, those darn kids in the Parenting Class had to cart around flour babies for a full weekend. Oh, technology. Now they give them real baby dolls that cry intermittently. And will require a quick shove with the magnetic bottle to stop crying. Sometimes. It could just be a throw down on the tummy to snap the back-flap for a single swipe with the magnetic diaper. But mostly just sitting there with a doll that is making no sound for a solid 15 minutes while you rock. And rock. And nervously laugh. And rock.

Can I blame her?

Ugh.