Unexpected Life Improvers

Sometimes you buy something with the knowledge that, holy Clamato juice, this is going to make my life so much better. Like a can opener that actually opens cans. (RC and I recently bought a new one after stubbornly struggling with one that was such an underachiever, it should have been sent back to remedial can opening class. Or burned. Or hucked through a window. Or set on fire and then hucked through a window.) Or like car tires that actually hold air (another exciting purchase at our house, but oh my, so much more convenient than stopping every other day to fill a tire with a slow leak). But then there are random things that suddenly and without forethought make your world a better place to be. Inane items. Things you neither needed or  sought out, but there they are, making things all awesome for you.

Such is the case with the big yellow ceramic duck. My dad and stepmom sent the duck to my hospital room, with its back full of flowers, when I brought forth the Declan from my loins (Okay, I had a C-section, so that's not really true, but it sounds way more awesome than "when I had Declan forcibly removed from me"). It's cute as heck, and the flowers were nice, but I didn't really think much of it after my initial meet and greet with Ducky von BloomingButt.

That's a cute duck.

We loaded up the duck when we left the hospital, and I had one of those moments when I was conflicted: We had too much stuff to carry, and what was I going to do with a big ceramic duck? But then I got distracted, as I always do, and the duck was safely loaded into the car and away we went. Our family grew by two that day, I guess, because the duck was just about as big as D was.

After a week or so, the flowers looked like most all the plants/living things that are not humans that fall into my care: dead as a doornail. I threw out the wilted biological mass and again pondered what to do with a big yellow ceramic duck that now had quite a gaping cavity in its back. I had some party favors left over from my baby shower, so I loaded them into the duck (that's called creative organization -- putting one thing you don't know what to do with but can't bring yourself to throw out into another thing you don't know what to do with), and then I wandered around the house looking for a nest for Mr. Quackers (thank goodness I'm better at naming kids than inanimate objects). I found an emptyish spot on the back of Declan's changing table. For those of you playing along at home, our changing table is HUGE. Why? Well, because it's more of a Foosball table with a laminated piece of wood on top of it than a "traditional" piece of baby furniture. Don't worry, we took out all the guys on sticks out for the conversion...there isn't a miniature soccer team underneath suffocating from inhalation of wood stain and poop. Where was I? Oh yeah, the duck. I put the duck on the back of the changing table, and suddenly, my little tiny baby boy who used to cry and/or scream during diaper swaps was silent. He was focused. He was happy. He was cooing and making all those cute baby noises. Not at me or RC, the ones caring for him and changing his nasty diaper (seriously, how can someone so cute produce such concentrated evil out the backside?), but at the duck. Quacky McBeakers is one of Declan's favorite things. I don't know why, but I'm not questioning it. It has made it so that after changing his diaper, little man is perfectly content to stay on his changing table for about 10 minutes talking to the duck. They have very animated yet one-sided conversations.

This was shot during a heated debate between Declan and Ducky.

Another such item is more practical, but still not something I every thought I needed. It's a big pillow thingy (technical term) called the Boppy Lounger. You put the baby in it when you want him to chill out, or stare out the window, or just be somewhere other than in your arms because, oh my god, have you seen the four inches of dust on the dresser? I need to clean that and I can't do it holding a baby. Anyway, the Lounger was given to me by one of my BFF's mom. I have never known such generosity as I have since producing a little gromlet into this world, so anyway, I got the Boppy Lounger. Never heard of it. Didn't really know what it was all about other than you plop your baby in it and can walk away without fear of him packing a bag and walking out the front door when you're not paying attention. Or, you know, falling off the bed. Whichever is more probable. So, after a few days of getting to know my little man, I found out one very important thing about him: He does not have the patience to be manhandled by his mom all day long. Like, the kid needs a time out sans humans; he needs a break from all that constant stupid baby talk and jostling in inexperienced arms. He needs the Boppy Lounger. It took me a few days, but I realized that after he's fed, he's dry, he's burped, little Declan wants to be left the hell alone. Turn on the ceiling fan, open the blinds, and leave him to ponder this great big world and his place in it. That's where the Boppy Lounger comes in. I'd say that 87.45% of the photos I take of my little bundle of awesome takes place in the Lounger. Let me show you:

Lounging in the morning...

Lounging on Christmas...

Lounging at nap time...

Lounging while thinking about stuff...

Lounging while declaring solidarity...with...I don't know...Boppy Loungers?

Lounging while being as cute as possible...

And lounging with faux tattoo sleeves.

There you have it: The Boppy Lounger. Thank you, Boppy, for making my world a better place by holding my child when he doesn't want me to hold him. Which is more often than I'd like to admit. I somehow gave birth to the most independent dependent ever.