the way things go

A year ago I was pregnant and we were getting ready to have a new baby in a house where we thought there wasn't going to be another baby. I had fallen in love with the house a year before and the first thing I thought when I saw it was "Thank fucking god we're not going to have to babyproof this place! What a nightmare!" which proves two things:

1. I swear too much, even in my head; and

2. We were wrong and foolish and naive. Babyproofing this jerry-rigged ranch house is even worse than I thought it would be.

To be honest, I haven't even started yet. The thought of the task ahead is too daunting even to consider thinking about beginning. It's 10:30 am and I feel the need for a cocktail. Be right back.

Where was I. Yes. Babyproofing at this point means chasing the fastest crawler I've ever given birth to around the house or putting him in his playpen which, surprisingly, he's still ok with. If we had tried that kind of bullshit with Peanut or Bean they would have looked me in the eye, spit, and then fashioned a shiv out of a vintage Fisher-Price stacking toy to shank me with the next time they had a chance. Sprout will never know how happy I am that he came last.

We call him "Looks with Hands"

GOOD MORNING, MINION. THIS MORNING I REQUIRE SHINY EXPENSIVE TOYS. YOUR CAMERA WILL DO NICELY. HAND IT OVER. I NEED TO SMEAR SNOT ON IT. NOW. NO, DO NOT TRY TO PLACATE ME WITH YOUR BOOBS. ONLY SHINY EXPENSIVE TOYS WILL DO. NO! NOT BOOBS! NOOOOOOO!
OK, WELL. ALRIGHT. I GUESS. BUT NEXT TIME YOU WILL HAND OVER THE CAMERA WHEN I ASK FOR IT OR I WILL SEND THE HYPNOTOAD AFTER YOU, TENDER EARTHLING.