Sock it to Me

Posted on March 3, 2014

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There are a few things that surprise me as a new mom.
For example:
How many times I can say “no” in a day. In an afternoon. In an hour… Surely I must be up for a Guinness World Record..?

How quickly little humans grow out of clothes. Overnight? Really?

How a little human body can poop a day. FIVE times? really?

How used to changing a diaper one can be. I don’t even blink anymore.
How one can lose a gag reflux. What’s a gag reflux?

The one thing I never expected though was the importance of socks.
Yes socks.
Seriously.

Gone are the days of old mismatched – they are both kind of black – good enough’ throw on and go. Gone are the days where a small hole is tolerable. Gone are the days when a few dozen socks are sufficient for a wardrobe. Gone are the days of not caring about f’n socks.

Socks have taken over my world.

They have even made it on my mental checklist before I leave the apartment each day, right after diapers.
Baby. Check.
Stroller. Check.
Diapers. Check.
Socks. Check.

And it’s not just socks for Lil’ Johnny on my mind. I have to of course think about socks for myself as well.
Awesome. Another thing to think about.

See…All mommy and me classes require that both the baby and mommy to be in socks. Chalk that up to 3 classes a week, that’s a lot of socks.
And guess what… When you are tumbling around on the floor all eyes… are on your feet.
It’s not just classes. Houses don’t allow shoes anymore once a baby arrives. Germs are a no. Feet are gross. Socks must be worn.
And you better not come in with a hole in the bottom.
You’ll be that mom. You don’t want to be that mom.

You never know when an impromptu play date may arise. So I always try to be prepared.

It’s as if I’m a squirrel and socks are my nuts for an emergency – I hide them in every crack crevice and nook and cranny I can find. The difference is that I’m hiding socks and am becoming nuts.
I have spare socks in the diaper bag, stroller, and of course in my purse. This morning I counted five pairs in my handbag alone, three for me and two for Lil’ Johnny.
I once found a pair under the couch and even a pair in the dog’s bed.
I have no idea how it got there.
WTF.

It’s out of control.

Maybe I should just take a page from our friend Mr. Squirrel and start storing them in my cheeks instead. At least I’ll always know where they are.

Because that wouldn’t be nuts at all.

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