I love being a mommy. I love the look she gives me when I come into her room every morning to start the day, as if she were to say, "OMG Mommy I was just thinking about you!" It truly is the most fulfilling feeling. I feel like I've been so blessed to have the ability to stay home with Collins for the past 9 months - financially. Sanity's bags were pack looooong ago my friend. I am just out of ideas for shit to do. I'm bored out of my everloving mind. Everything that I want to do to the house requires money and supplies - something that a stay-at-home mom doesn't have an endless supply of. Pinterest gives me ulcers because I see SO MUCH COOL STUFF that I don't have the faintest idea of a) how to do it; and b) where to acquire the resources to get my kid to sit still so I can do it.
I would bake some shit, like really yummy Christmas goodies, but then I would eat the aforementioned shit, and then I would feel bad about myself for being a glutton and continue eating that crap out of self-hatred and humiliation.
Speaking of mindless eating - the manchild pitched this gem of an idea at me as we were grocery shopping on empty stomachs this past Sunday, "Hey why don't we make chili and those amazing oatmeal chocolate chip cookies?" Awww that sounds sweet right? A couple of lovebirds playfully smearing whole-wheat flour on one another's noses and giggling with flirtatious abandon? Except we're married...so..........yeah.
What he meant was, "Why don't I watch football and work while you make chili and those amazing oatmeal chocolate chip cookies - of which I only want one, and then I will conveniently be going out of town on business for few days, so the entire batch of delicious cookies will be sitting around in front of you, daring you to eat them. If you don't eat them, they will be stale by the time I get back - what a shame, money wasted; however if you do eat them, I will make fun of you for being a fatty. And by make fun of you, I mean gently suggest that you go for a run, no worries, I'll watch the baby, because a moment on your lips is a lifetime on your hips."
Le sigh.
So now I'm stuck with a huge batch of delicious, soft, gooey chocolate chip cookies. After my like, fourteenth cookie (I shit you not) I sealed up the container and put them high high high above the cupboards, out of my reach and out of my eyesight. I wish I would have thought to do that BEFORE I ate fourteen cookies, give or take seven.
Collins is sick of her toys. Poor Collins. No, wait. Poor ME! With no toys to hold her attention, I haven't gotten to blog in like two weeks, which is something I'm sure only I noticed. But whatever. It's amazing how quickly babies develop and learn the nuances of their favorite toys, only to be completely bored of them within just weeks. Collins loved her links. They help with teething, and they link together (duh). A week ago, if I linked them together and jiggled them in front of her, she would kick her legs like she was jumping, her eyes would get wide as saucers, and she'd start squealing. Today I tried to get her excited about them, and she PUSHED THEM AWAY from her, with this snotty look like, "Mom those are so last week, get with the program. You bore me."
Then I tried to get Maestra to play me some songs on her little piano thing - but she kept getting pissed because it kept playing She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain. By the sound of her jibberish, I could tell she was berating the piano as if to say, "Damnit I want you to play Rockin Robin you amateurish, elementary piece of crap!" She's really nailed down the yelling tone in her jibberish and squeal language. I think we have a bossy, impatient, opinionated little pistol on our hands. I can't imagine where she gets that.
All of her new, exciting toys are waiting for her, wrapped nicely under our Christmas tree, and I'll be damned if I didn't slave over wrapping those oddly misshapen children's toy gifts. Why are children's toys always nicely tucked away in the most unwrappably-shaped box? Have you ever tried wrapping Christmas presents with a baby who wants to eat the paper, a manchild who is engrossed in his fantasy football leagues, and dog who thinks he's a flying squirrel, jumping to and from the furniture pieces all nimbly-bimbly like - all at the same time? Judging by the amount of four-letter words flying out of my mouth, our child may or may not get expelled from daycare - if I ever get a job that requires me to brush my teeth before ten.
