In the Company of a Rock Star

Chalk this up to paranoia, delusions of gradeur, narcissism, or a little of everything, but I swear, everywhere I go people are staring at me.  Or pointing.  Or smiling.  Or whispering to one another.

Why is this?

At first I assumed  it was because I was drop dead gorgeous {in my dreams} but I finally figured out it was because of the blue eyed baby on my hip: Everett.

Every time we go out in public we cause a scene.  Head nods, admiring glances, or even the occasional conversation is started about how damn cute my son is.  It is like hanging out with a rock star. No one is  really looking at me; they want to talk to the little person strapped to my body.

I don’t blame them.  I look at my son dozens of times a day and think “Wow.  This kid is gorgeous.  He is adorable.  I can’t believe he is mine.  I am SO LUCKY.”

My first son was cute, but I’m going to be honest and say the reactions in public just weren’t the same.  I got comments and looks, but not like this.  I make sure I always look presentable when I go out with Everett because I know people are looking.  Alone I am invisible.

I do miss when I could just walk out the door with little to no make-up wearing wrinkled jeans and a t-shirt with a spit up stain on it.  Oh no…. now I make sure I at least have on base, mascara, blush, and lipstick at all times.  And leave without a shower?  Never!

I’ll leave you with some photographic evidence of my son’s rock stardom.  Pictures can’t convey the way he flirts with others.  He will grin with a HUGE smile and nose crinkle, then bury his face into my chest for a moment.  Then he looks back at them and starts it all again.

One day those cherubic cheeks will thin, those chunky thighs will turn to muscle, and his tiny chubby feet will elongate and occupy a pair of stinky abused Converse. For now he is my baby Rock Star.

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