Baby Blame, Hugs, & MK

One benefit to having a child that I didn’t foresee is the ability to blame everything on them. I must confess that Beckett has already been my scapegoat several times in his short 7 1/2 weeks of life.

Babies get parents out of:  

social gatherings: “I really wish we could stay for your Gilligan’s Island themed barbeque, but the baby can’t really be around that many people yet. Germs. Scary stuff.”  

daily hygiene: “Why yes, these are the same leggings. They’re on day 15 and still going strong!”  

accidental or intentional flatulence: “Poor baby just has so much gas…”  

favors: “Helping you address all 3,000 of your wedding invitations is a totally dream come true, but that is baby’s nap time and we can’t have him missing that!”  

awkward conversations: “I’d love to hear more about your ongoing struggle with planter’s warts, but seriously – how cute is this guy? Have you heard his little sneeze? Look at his little tie onesie. Presh.”

…and much, much MORE! Don’t miss out – grab a baby scapegoat now while supplies last!
{read in overly happy commerical guy voice}

Do you ever say something super nerdy then want to take it back immediately? Disregard above lines. Disregard also the “wowza” and “crunk” I threw into conversations this past week. Please and thank you.

Hugs

Last spring I went to a Beth Moore simulcast with my new friend, Lizeth. I’d never hung out with her outside of work so it was essentially our first date. When I was dropping her off at her car after the event, she went in for a side hug (which is super awkward to do in a car…but she insisted). I tried to get my arm free of the seat belt to return the hug, but she misinterpreted my slight lean away from her (again, to free my arm first) as a dismissive gesture. She made it super uncomfortable by continuing to say, “If you didn’t want to hug me, you should have said something.” To this day, we still argue about what really happened that afternoon. She still claims I’m not a hugger. I claim she makes it uncomfortable by trying to hug me in a car on our first date.

My dad has perfected the “preacher hug”. He comes at people, hand extended, genuinely excited to see them. They take his hand to shake it. Little do they know, he only wanted their hand as leverage to pull them into a hug. It’s sneaky, but if you watch closely, most preachers do this.

Hugs can be delightful or awkward.

I bring this up, because I had 2 of the worst hugs ever recently.

1. Taylor and I ran into a guy at church that he knew. Taylor asked, “Have you met my wife?”  I answered “no” and the man answered “yes” at the exact same time. Ahem. Because I was under the impression I didn’t know him, I held out my hand while he (seemingly familiar with me) drew me into a hug. The result was a one-armed full body hug with my previously extended hand trapped between our two bodies.

2. Leaving a social engagement where Taylor and I had met someone for the first time, it was that terrible say-goodbye-to-someone-you-just-met time. Hug? Handshake? Just walk away? We went for all of the above. I went in for a hug while Taylor went in for a handshake, simultaneously. The result was a 3-person hugshake.

So horrible.

Am I the only one who has terrible hug encounters? Please tell me you’ve experienced something similar. Tell me all about it.

My BFFAAF (welcome back, 1999 and AIM) came to visit this past week and to meet the little nugget that is Beckett. I’m not sure if Beckett was having loads of gas, he hated her Tennessee accent, or was tired of shopping, but he was grumpy the whole time she was here. I told him he wasn’t making a very good first impression but, like most kids, he just doesn’t mind his momma.

We ate at Joe T’s, had Pinterest craft day (and it wasn’t lame, D Groupers), spent hours at Grapevine Mills, made meals for families with new babies, and watched Nelly Cruz demolish Detroit in the Ranger’s postseason.

Mari-Kate and I grew up 11 houses down from each other in Memphis and spent a ridiculous amount of time together through junior high and high school. Any time a mess of sorts appeared or all the Hot Pockets mysteriously got eaten at the Blair household, her mom would immediately blame me. Rightly so. I was a quite a treasure.

We went to different colleges, got married to men the other didn’t know, and are now reproducing. Still, we can pick right back up where our super cool 12th grade selves left off. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friendship.

Our week: