Jump Ship? I Think Not!

You know what parents really mean when they say, "They grow up too fast"?
They're not implying that their children slip away from them too quickly.
What they're trying to say is that their sorry asses can't keep up.
It was only a few weeks ago that Mackenzie started pulling herself up in the crib, requiring us Doug to lower it to the mid-level position.
But by 6 p.m. Friday night we were once again in the same boat, with Mackenzie looking out over her crib as if she was Kate Winslet in the "I'm Flying" scene in Titanic (yes... boat, Titanic... pun intended, thank you).  


Given the fact that it was around Mackenzie's bedtime and Doug still wasn't home, I was reluctant to try to get the crib into its lowest position on my own.  But a part of me suspected that I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink knowing that at any moment she could go overboard.
Well, in retrospect I wish I'd scattered a bunch of pillows around the crib, hoped for the best, and called it a night.
Son of a bitch, that shit was hard.
And it was a whole lot harder than when Doug did it, yes it was.
Because... well, duh. I always have it harder.
But ALSO... because I had to keep a watchful eye on Mackenzie while I was tending to the crib.
She only managed to tangle herself in the bed skirt once, which I just happened to notice after hearing her muffled cries for help from under the layers upon layers of fabric engulfing her entire face and body.
The crib ordeal took approximately 45 minutes, due in large part to the fact that the manufacturers of said crib are imbeciles.
I was cursing.
I was sweating.
I was asking - out loud - how single mothers do it.
How do military wives do it?
I guess they have help but, really? Good grief!
Parenthood should never come with a single admission ticket.
Unless, perhaps, you surround yourself with a boatload of nannies, night nurses, and narcotics.
To make things even more exciting, all those prunes and pears I've been giving Mackenzie to get the train to Poopy Town moving faster seemed to kick in right around the time I was giving myself a proud pat on the back for finishing the crib.
When I first saw the brown stains on the nursery carpet I thought, "Oh great, after all that you spit up your dinner?"
When really, spit up would've been the best thing at that point.
I ended up in a state of utter doom, with sweat dripping from my forehead after the crib endeavor, and poop under my fingernails from Operation Constipation Obliteration. 
Sweet Mackenzie had finally "gone" and she managed to "go" just about everywhere except her plus-size diaper. 
After a lengthy clean up I finally put her down for the night, with a huge sigh of relief. 
I wondered, once again, how single parents manage to do this stuff all alone. 
I've never once taken Doug for granted during this eight month stint in parenthood.  
I have, however, neglected to regularly thank him for everything he does to keep the Rohrbeck ship afloat. 
Yes, I'm here all day long with an infant who requires my constant attention, and the life of a Stay At Home Mom is cluttered with a gazillion difficult responsibilities. 
But Project Crib Lowering really got me thinking about how lucky I am to have a great shipmate by my side, helping me navigate the beautiful yet sometimes treacherous   waters of parenting. 
So... Stay At Home Moms, Stay At Home Dads, Working Mothers, Working Fathers, Army Wives, Single Parents... 
I salute you! 
May you always have the help you need... and remember to go easy on the prunes.