Once upon a time there was a mother who lived in a little house with her husband and her children. They had plenty to eat and lived a nice, modest little life. Then one day, an event occurred. It was something that came around every year and mothers all over the land would shudder in fear of it. It was called “Spring Break” because of, certainly, all the spirits of mothers that were broken during that fateful week.
Today had such potential to be a good day. The sun is shining, it is above 50 degrees out there and I was ready to make a good day of it.
Gabe, however, had other plans…
It started out brilliantly. I woke up, had coffee and Gabe was being a real doll–not fussing, playing happily and just, in general, being a good baby. It felt like the perfect opportunity to go run some errands, and by running errands, I mean “go to Walmart,” as usual. Now, I’m not a ‘Mart fanatic. I’m a mother. I have limited time and resources. If I can make one trip, I better make it count. So, out of sanity-saving necessity, I go to the Mart. I hate the Mart, I do. But, shit, girllll, they got e’rthang!
It’s okay to be jealous.
I think he was itching his scaly forehead on my face (yeah, guess Clarisonic doesn’t cure cradle cap). Felt good. Felt right. Felt… Kinda abrasive (and oddly damp).
I also have a husband who documents the precious moments…
My life, you guys… My life…
My three-month old son laughed for the first time last night. It was a magical little cackle that would melt the iciest heart. And I, his doting mother, is the one who made him burst out in adorable giggles. How? By showing him what I look like when I cry.
What a dick, right? (Him, not me. I’m SUPER nice.)