I Kissed Your Hair...Dirty

I used to think that I didn't want to have kids. I was really die hard about it too. Got all offended when people would ask if Mr. Lipstick and I were going to have kids. Couldn't contain the lashing out, returning rudeness in exchange for stupidity.

Well, I felt that way until...I didn't. Thanksgiving 2002. I wanted a baby. All of a sudden my previous resolve seemed so foreign, so bizarre that I would have sworn it all occurred to another person in another lifetime.

In January 2003 Mr. Lipstick and I went to NYC.

It just so happened that one of my dearest friends Candlelight was there too.

Mr. Lipstick and I were there for a wedding. About twenty people got some kind of food poisoning or virus and vomited the next day...including Mr. Lipstick. He spent most of the day sleeping in Mr. and Mrs. Candlelight's hotel room while everyone else toured the city.

Thankfully everyone returned home safely and vomit-free, but wouldn't you know it...shortly thereafter I started vomiting. A lot. At home. At work. People even asked me if I was pregnant. "Nooooo!" I exclaimed. "See, we went to this wedding and alllll these people got sick..."

January 26, 2003. Super Bowl Sunday. Tampa Bay Bucs v. Oakland Raiders.
Mr. Lipstick and I found out we were indeed going to have a baby.

Here we are eight years ago.

The anesthesiologist took that picture. I always thought that was funny. Talk about being over-qualified for the general point-and-shoot.

Eight weeks into our sweet JBB's life, we looked...hmmm, like we hadn't slept in eight weeks.

Sometimes he didn't sleep either.

Mr. Lipstick called him, "Grumpy Sunshine."

By JBB's first birthday, we managed to take a nap and do some laundry. And lose 68 pounds. Well, that last part was just me. Mr. Lipstick got a haircut though.

I can't believe my sweet JBB has just turned eight years old. It seems like yesterday that the doctor put him in my arms for the first time. "I love you, I love you, I love you," were my first words to him.

His head was covered with that fine baby hair that grows haphazardly in all directions. I would hold him for hours and hours, kiss his head, and bury my face in those little tufts of fluffy newborn hair. I remember Mommy Lipstick saying, "Sweetie, you kissed his head dirty!!" The next morning the nurses had washed his hair before they brought him to my room. I remember how we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed about that.

I still kiss JBB's head all the time. Last week it occurred to me that it won't be much longer until he will be taller than me and I will have to be sneaky about the whole thing. I tell him all the time, "when I am 79 and you are 50, I will still kiss your head." He smiles. He knows I mean it.