Almost as good as Cheaters: undeniable evidence of my partner’s maaaybe-too-close bond with our “first baby,” Little Bear. Our trial run may have failed in the potty training department, but we are co-sleeping PROS. Obvs!
Aside from learning the hard way that children are disease-carrying vermin, my weekend wasn’t bad. Even though I spent half of it attached by the head to a nebulizerOK I’LL STOP.
We bought Graham his first rubber duckie this weekend. I loved the hell out of mine when I was a kid, so I figured it was time to pass down the tradition. Graham seemed to like it, too, but mostly for chewing.
So, B and I are watching More Business of Being Born on Netflix this afternoon, and we got about halfway into an episode and were both like, hell no; turn it off; turn it off RIGHT NOW; it’s jinxing us!
I mean, I gotta hand it to my back-to-back-ing sistas, but I just don’t see us going down that road again aaanytime soon, if ever. Like, you know that part in Forgetting Sarah Marshall where Paul Rudd asks Jason Segel if he would quit surfing after being bitten by a shark, and Jason Segel is like, well, since you mentioned it, uh, absofuckinlutely, and Paul Rudd is like, WTF is wrong with you?
Yeah, so, B and I are pretty much Jason Segel. Everybody else is like, “Get back on that horse!” And we’re like, “The same horse that made everything we did twice as hard for 9 months and cost us a shitload of money and resulted in the production of a helpless creature requiring such tireless devotion that it made gigapets look low-maintenance? Yeah… no.”
I hate people who are under the false impression that they and everyone around them enjoy it when they integrate their kids into all their favorite activities.
At least they didn’t bring the baby to a restaurant.