At War With Rooster

I shouldn't be blogging. I should be getting my baby in bed. I just can't help myself. I need to blog.

You see tonight was terrible. It was good too! But it was also terrible.  Tonight Evan and I took our little Rooster to his first mission rally.  Our church gets together with other churches in the area every few months for singing and preaching, and of course fellowship. I really think it's just an excuse to eat finger foods, but that's not the point. They don't have nursery at mission rally, but no big deal, right? Our little boy had taken a nap; he'd been fed; he was primed and ready to go for some quiet playtime.

NOT!

He fussed the entire time. He spit up all over everything! I was wiping drool off the pew as we left (on the bright side, that spot is extra shiny now!). On the other hand, I was also covered in spit up and not so shiny! We went through three burp rags and a blanket.  He just wanted to chew on everything especially my hand. He didn't want to sit or lay down. He didn't want to bounce or sing or play. He just wanted to fuss and chew on things. He drove me crazy!

If we had been at home, I would have laid him in his crib and left him to entertain himself...or fuss himself to sleep, whichever he preferred.  Instead, Evan and I passed the baby back and forth every 5 mins so we could take turns drying the slobber off our hands. We had burp rags stuffed in the hymn holders and toys scattered all over the pew. If you didn't know any better you would have thought we lived there! (What is it about kids that requires them to turn everywhere into their own private play area, mess and all?) I was just so thankful when the program was over!

The funny thing is when I was in high school and college, I used to love taking other people's kids places. If I was babysitting, I would find any excuse to drag the kids to Wal-Mart so I could pretend like they were my own. I used to dream about how fun it would be to have a sweet little baby to take with me places. He would be so cute, and everyone would stop and admire this adorable little bundle of joy and talk about what an awesome parent I was.

Yeah, that's not reality!

Instead I find myself covered in spit-up, holding a squirming, fussy baby, and trying to act like we were paying attention. I kept telling myself, "Just keep your eyes forward! Act like nothing is wrong." I don't think anyone bought our charade.

Of course, after church everyone sitting around us assured me they didn't even notice he was fussing....really? You didn't notice? Were you sleeping?!?! How could the whole church not notice?

So why didn't we get up and take him out sooner you ask?

Because I refuse to negotiate with terrorist. Even when the terror is my baby.

*Note: This is my own personal experience. My husband insist Rooster was not that bad. Well, I insist that this is my blog, and I'll tell the story how I like. Take it or leave it!