I have to warn you: this post is going to be disturbingly sweet. In reality, there’s a LOT of good in my life. I just don’t think the good is often as funny as the bad, so you may not hear about it. I’m also not one of those people who feels like they need to scream “LOOK AT HOW GREAT MY LIFE IS!” from the highest mountain; rather, I enjoy throwing stones at that village idiot. But, I am pretty close to rock bottom today. My husband and I are both still sick, the baby is still not sleeping well, and we are both barely making it.
I am trying to diffuse this desparation by blowing sunshine and rainbows up your ass.
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This morning, I was holding the baby in my bedroom as my husband ran to the bathroom. ($45 antibiotics will FUCK YOUR STOMACH UP, BOY.) As always, I was munching on his ginormous cheeks, and I said, as I have a thousand times before, “Gimme a kiss, Binja.”
And he did.
Sure, it was open-mouthed and drooly and oddly reminiscent of a game of 6th grade spin-the-bottle, but my baby kissed me. Leaned his head in and planted one on me. Then sat back and beamed. He, here lately, has been incredibly affectionate — “Are you my sweet baby?” commands inspires him to cuddle into you and will melt even PMS away — but this was a first. He understood a concept and applied it.
And I became a puddle of perfume and velcro rollers.
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Oh, and you REALLY want to feel all warm and fuzzy? My child may not look anything like me (NOW.. you should see my baby pics.. he is my twin), but he has inherited some aspects of me. Like? He LOVES Christmas lights.
It started in Costco, right after Halloween. I pointed out the Christmas trees. “Aren’t those pretty, Binja?” I’d ask. He’d look. He wasn’t really impressed.
But now? Every time he sees lights, he GIGGLES. Like, it brings out so much joy in this child that he can no longer contain it and it manifests in giggles made of puppy dog tails and fairy farts. And if you look long enough, he will lift his hand to the lights, as if they were JUST beyond his reach, and say, “Ooooh.”
I cannot WAIT to take our yearly trip to the Galaxy of Lights with him. We may have to go twice.
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The last time my hair was this long was before my wedding. I’m so happy to have it hit my shoulders now. I hope to have it colored in the next week or two to make it more suitable for fake-hair wearing.
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This makes me happy. Bryan won’t let me buy any because we are both fully capable of making our own batter and some other crap that I stopped listening to him say, but isn’t it cool?
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Why, all of a sudden, is the “hot ticket” item an inflatable Santa on a Harley? They have them all over both WalMart and Big Lots! And why do I shop at such crappy stores?
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Do all babies squirm and make God-awful faces when you feed them that a spoonful of food, as if it were laced with arsenic, and then come back for more.. only to repeat it? Dude, SERIOUSLY, if it’s that bad, don’t eat it. (Hi, Pot. I’m Kettle.)
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My stepson asked for CLOTHES this Christmas. I think this is the second sign of the Apocalypse. (The first happened under an overpass.)
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So we’re having a debate in my house. Sunday is Binja’s first birthday, but we’re not having a party until the weekend following. I wanted to have his one year portraits made on Sunday (his real birthday), and I wanted one of the “settings” (poses? sittings? looks?) to be him eating a birthday cake. Bryan says this shall not happen before his party. What say you, greater internets?
