Yesterday afternoon, I posted this on Facebook:
12pm: Fern wakes up one hour too soon from her nap.
1pm: Fern cuts her hand, getting her first boo boo.
1:02pm: Fern gets Dilly Bean pickle juice in her cut, causing massive caterwauling.
2:00pm: Fern has her first meltdown, at a Goodwill in the Castro, surrounded by glittery dog costumes and sympathetic Queens.
2:45: Fern re-opens the cut on her hand. Jeff puts a band-aid on it with antibiotic ointment. She then eats said band-aid and ointment.
2:47: Bathroom door is open for first time all day.
2:48: Fern eats toilet paper out of the toilet AGAIN. With the hand that has a cut on it.
2:50: Screaming. From Fern. And Mommy.
3:07: Mommy wonders if it’s too early in the day to start drinking….
(I did indeed finally get a Trumer Pilsner at 5:30. This was after a cold and windy excursion to the playground that involved her new favorite past time. Sand throwing. That beer was not a moment too soon.).
Remember that post I did a while back about Fern not being a baby anymore? Well, I spoke a little bit too soon, because her 5 alarm tantrum at the thrift store announced her toddlerhood louder than the stink-eye glares I got from all the single gay men, containing that accusation often found in certain communities: “BREEDER.”
Yes. Yes I am. And now my job here is done. This was a public service from The Birth Control Advocates of America.
But I still love it. I love her attempts to run away on those stiff little chubby legs. I love the hand that slaps at me and the next moment is reaching for my legs with sorrowful coos. I love being used as a jungle gym at 5:00 am. I love the pathetic attempts to stall at bedtime, pointing out every object in the room, with her “Naaaa? Naaa?” plea, hoping that she’ll land on something that will buy her a few more minutes. I love the bruise over my eye that I got when she slammed her bowling ball head into mine this morning. I love it. I LOVE IT. They’re coming to take me away, ha ha…
Here is your weekly dose of sanity inducing, mood lifting, thought provoking sifting from the internets.
Loving this song:
I’ve always planned on building (when I get my 40 acres and mule) my own small therapy shack for at-home sessions with clients. Now that I have instructions, I will also get to pretend I’m a hobbit.
Speaking of ideal country life, I am loving these reports of rural life in the english countryside. Read up, else you be a pikey or a didicoy.
And while I’m there, I must dress like this.
Since I’m being an anglo-phile, I think counting stars is something that should be done all over the world.
Now the bumblebees. This is bad news, sorry. But very very important.
Get ready for The Great Backyard Bird Count. I do this every year, and have a wonderful time. If anyone would like to join Fern and I this year, let me know!
Finally tomorrow is Groundhog Day. Or is that Hedgehog Day? Or Snake Day? Imbolc? St. Brigid’s Day? Candlemas? All of the above.
Have a good Tuesday. I’m going to go get an ice-pack for my head…