Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Ice Queen Cometh

Know what's worse than these frigid temperatures we're having? 
Trying to get out of the house with an infant in these frigid temperatures. (OK, maybe it's worse if you have multiples, I'll give you that.)
But seriously, it's bad enough trying to venture out into the real world with a child on a normal day.
And yeah, all those cute, hoody buntings are just to DIE FOR when it's cold outside, but if your kid is anything like mine, trekking out in below-freezing temps is like preparing for war... and my daughter wants nothing more than to jump ship and go AWOL. 

For starters, Mackenzie LOVES being naked.
This, clearly, is something that has caused several new gray hairs on her father's head.
Our daughter is never happier than when she's flailing her arms and legs on the changing table: no clothes, no diaper, just her rolls of baby fat and her bare bottom... naked for all to see.
Getting her into a diaper alone is torture, what with the kicking, rolling over, eating of toes, and -- most recently -- the attempts to lick anything related to the diapering process (the diaper itself, her own poo, the baby wipes, my fingers, etc).
Once I've finally maneuvered my kid into a diaper it's like we're fighting in a WWE match just to get some clothes on.
Gone are the days when I'd be super cautious about pushing Mackenzie's little arms through the sleeves of onesies, or I'd fear having to pull a body suit over her head.  
No, this baby is strong (90th percentile for weight, remember?)
She will fight me 'til death, no matter how many times I tell her that it's friggin' cold outside and I'm just trying to keep her warm so she doesn't get sick.
But those warnings don't seem to help my cause, and getting out of the house when the mercury plummets is a huge pain in the ass. 
It's like Mackenzie is headed to the guillotine.
She imitates what one friend describes as an iron cross and she turns to steel, resisting my efforts to put her in warm clothes, her car seat, or her stroller. 
What should take five minutes, max, ends up lasting a half hour.
It takes so much out of me that I'm sweating by the time I pull out of the driveway, hastily trying to peel layers off before reaching the stop sign at the end of the block.
It's so bad that whenever we get to where we're going I just leave Mackenzie bundled up like an eskimo, praying that she won't overheat and faint.  Never mind the fact that I'd be shit out of luck if I had to change her diaper while we were out.  It would take me until Christmas 2011 just to get her clothes off.
Officially pissed!
I've talked to several moms with older kids who assure me that things only get worse.  Their toddlers can actually talk back, and they know enough and are strong enough that they can go bury themselves in a nook somewhere and refuse to come out.  That is something I'm definitely not looking forward to.  For now, I guess I'll try to give myself an extra 30 minutes to get out of the house (like I have the extra time!) and appreciate the fact that Mackenzie can't yet bite me in protest.  But damn, what in God's name am I supposed to do this entire winter if Mackenzie throws a fit every time she has to bundle up? It's bad enough that stay-at-home moms have to suffer from cabin fever during this season... Now we have to take down "Stone Cold" Steve Austin just to get to the grocery store.

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