In the two short months the Mister and I have been parents we have – on more than one occasion – looked at each other and asked, “How do single parents do this?”  Big ups to single parents everywhere because…wow.  And to parents of multiples.  Honestly.  I don’t want to come off as a wimp, but at one point during that first month I said, “How do people who are fuck ups manage to parent?  I consider us to be pretty smart and we are barely holding it together.”  It may have been the sleep deprivation talking.  Regardless, I’m so grateful to have a partner with which to parent.

There are many reasons why it’s great to have a partner in crime.  (The crime being a cute baby who cries and poops a lot.)  Perhaps the most obvious:  division of labor.  This only works if you have a partner who lives with you in 2012 (or 1980 for that matter) in which it’s not acceptable for the father to do nothing.  That guy is less “partner” and more “jerk.”

Perhaps the less obvious perk of having a co-parent is this:  you have someone with whom you can look to at anytime and exclaim as if it’s scientific fact: “OMG…he’s so cute!”  Or “I just love him so much it physically hurts.”  (Spoiler alert:  I’ve said both.  Multiple times.)  The great thing about making these declarations to your partner?  Without fail he or she will enthusiastically agree with you unless said partner has just been victim to your baby’s poop-splosion.  In that instance, you will have to wait until all visible traces of poop have been removed from both baby and partner before you get your desired agreement.

I don’t care how cute (you think) your baby is, at some point people get tired of hearing how awesome they are.  At that point you are left with two options:  Use your partner as the baby cuteness sounding board or as one woman did at Trader Joe’s recently:  find a new audience.

I bring this up as a cautionary tale to myself to never get so wrapped up in my life as a mother to pull this move:

The Mister was going through the produce section at Trader Joe’s when he overheard a woman with her son, maybe around 18 months old (or whatever age a baby is when language skills are impressive – yeah, yeah, I’m super knowledgeable).  The mom was pointing out various produce items as they shopped.  Once the son saw the pre-cut cantaloupe he started exclaiming, “Cantaloupe!  Cantaloupe!”  The mom placed the cantaloupe in their cart as they made their way through the rest of the store.

The Mister didn’t run into her again until they were both at the checkout stands.  One stand over, he heard the cashier talking to the little boy, impressed with all of the words the boy knows.  The mom then offered up this gem:  “He’s very verbose for his age.”  The cashier, playing along, held up a bag of salad and asked the boy if he knew what it was.  The boy replied, “Salad.”  The mom then picked the bag of pre-cut cantaloupe from her grocery bag and said to the cashier, “I would be very surprised if he knew what this was.”

I.  Am.  Not.  Kidding.

The Mister, being a gentleman, did not bust the woman on the spot as I would’ve wanted to, but never would have dared.  I much prefer to mock people behind their back, as there’s less risk of getting punched in the face.  But that’s just me.

And yes, I’m very aware that two months in, I still have plenty of time to fall face first into this “my child is amazing” land mine.  Although if you poll my friends it’s entirely possible I already have – in record time – dropped down this annoying-to-others rabbit hole, but am too blinded by love to notice.  Yeah, now that I think about it…