I’m not the type to linger for ages getting ready to step outside. Sure, I always shower, apply some makeup, and manage my hair with a bit more effort than just tossing on a cap. But typically, I can go from shower to car in about half an hour flat. So, when it was time to dress my newborn for brunch, I assumed it would be just as simple. After all, he’s a boy! And let’s be real, he wasn’t even shaving yet—talk about a time-saver.
We were spending the weekend at a friend’s condo in Palm Beach—my first getaway since welcoming my baby four weeks prior. My husband, Tom, had gone fishing early that morning, and I was set to meet him for lunch at a waterfront café. I thought Tom had the tough job wrestling tarpon; all I had to do was toss a cheeky onesie on my little guy that proclaimed he was our “tax write-off.” Piece of cake, right?
Well… Welcome to the reality of being a first-time mom. Here’s how dressing a newborn for brunch actually unfolds:
Step One:
Start by putting your baby in a clean diaper and an adorable onesie with some cute pants. Secure him in the car seat. Great! He’s ready to roll.
Step Two:
Pack the diaper bag with essentials—diapers, wipes, Balmex, and trash bags. Don’t forget two bottles of formula since your breastfeeding attempt didn’t go quite as planned (no judgment, please!). Toss in five pacifiers—because, you know, babies have a knack for dropping them on the floor. Add three spare outfits for those inevitable spit-ups or diaper disasters.
Step Three:
Panic sets in as you realize you’re running late. Make a quick bathroom pit stop (because your bladder apparently never fully recovers). Grab your wallet, keys, and sunglasses. Sling the diaper bag over your shoulder, pick up the car seat, and reach for the door handle…
Step Four:
Pause! Baby starts crying—no, wait, now it’s a full-blown scream.
Step Five:
Put everything down and unbuckle the baby, only to discover he needs a diaper change.
Step Six:
Let out a heavy sigh.
Step Seven:
Return to the guest room. Lay your baby in the center of the bed—after all, he can’t roll yet, but you’re still paranoid about him falling off.
Step Eight:
Open the diaper—duck! Your little one unleashes a fountain of pee that could knock a tin can off a fence at 50 yards. Attempt to shield the stream with your hands, which only makes things worse. Ignore the wails as he sprays himself in the face.
Step Nine:
Notice you are now REALLY late.
Step Ten:
Grab wipes, diapers, Balmex, and a dry outfit from the diaper bag.
Step Eleven:
Remove the soaked onesie, trying not to give your baby whiplash while doing so. Clean him up. Put on a fresh onesie, being equally cautious.
Step Twelve:
Squeeze Balmex onto your fingers, aiming for your squirming baby’s diaper rash. Somehow, you end up getting it everywhere but the intended area.
Step Thirteen:
Rip off the second onesie in frustration and toss it across the room.
Step Fourteen:
Stare at your now-naked, pee-soaked, Balmex-covered baby.
Step Fifteen:
Cry a little—just a little.
Step Sixteen:
Question why brunch is even worth it. Why do people leave the house before dinner?
Step Seventeen:
Fill the bathroom sink with warm water and attempt to wash the baby while he thrashes about like a slippery fish.
Step Eighteen:
Dry him off gently with a towel. Grab another diaper and a third onesie from the bag.
Step Nineteen:
Head back to the guest room, find a dry spot on the bed to lay your baby, and redress him. Buckle him back in the car seat.
Step Twenty:
Reflect on your now extremely depleted diaper bag.
Step Twenty-One:
Let out a few choice expletives, channeling your inner Shakespeare.
Step Twenty-Two:
Consider that if this were a Judd Apatow movie, you’d be laughing hysterically. And then you start laughing hysterically.
Step Twenty-Three:
Strip the bed and toss the pee-soaked linens into the laundry.
Step Twenty-Four:
Realize you’ve set a world record for being late to brunch.
Step Twenty-Five:
Grab the diaper bag, keys, sunglasses, and car seat. Make the sign of the cross, even if you’re Jewish, and head out the door.
Step Twenty-Six:
Drive like a madwoman, though still at a snail’s pace, to the restaurant. Valet the car because, honestly, you deserve not to haul your baby and the ridiculously heavy diaper bag across the parking lot.
Step Twenty-Seven:
Spot the mimosa your thoughtful husband had waiting for you. Weep tears of gratitude and drain your glass in one go. Repeat as necessary.
In conclusion, dressing your newborn for brunch is an adventure filled with unexpected twists and turns. But through the chaos, you’ll find laughter—and maybe even a little bit of sanity.
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Summary: Dressing a newborn for brunch is far from a quick task, often turning into a chaotic series of events that test a parent’s patience and humor. From diaper changes to unexpected messes, this guide humorously captures the reality of preparing for a simple outing with a little one.
Keyphrase: dressing a newborn for brunch
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