A few days ago I had a poop post swimming around in my head (I think I did, anyway) but the whirlwind of OHMYGOSH CHRISTMAS IS IN THREE DAYS kinda smashed my mind into a tiny pancake and then shot it into space. Once upon a time I would have been absolutely THRILLED to HAVE to go out shopping every day, but now? Now that I have a baby? Ugh. Whoever invented online shopping must be a mom, that's all I have to say.
It hasn't helped that I'm currently under the care of a podiatrist, of all things. I thought podiatrists were reserved for people of retirement age (and most of the patients who wait with me in the waiting room there ARE of retirement age) but since this baby got born, dang. Mah feet hurt. I have been struggling with some lovely chronic ingrown toenails on both feet (yum) and whilst pregnant I developed some fantastic plantar warts (I can't BELIEVE I'm admitting this publicly) which had to go untreated because pregnancy? Pretty much means that you have to just DEAL WITH IT, whatever IT is. So yeah, for the last four weeks I've been going to see a man who not only went to Foot Doctor Medical School ON PURPOSE, but also a man who is apparently a gleeful sadist. He has this crazy insane acid that he puts on my feet (after he's just ripped out half of my toenail) that makes the bottoms of my feet blister. ON PURPOSE. None of that sissy freezing off stuff for me. So yeah, that pretty much rules out having any fun whilst trying to push a shopping cart through the Target clothing section — which, by the way, have you tried? IMPOSSIBLE — AND carrying a 14ish pound baby in a Baby Bjorn. Unless you forgot the Baby Bjorn. And if you did that, just GO HOME. I've been stuck in (F)Ugg boots for a month and have not had a pedicure IN AGES. Because? I'm pretty sure that's how I got the warts in the first place.
Have I ruined your Christmas cookies yet? Move on, shall we?
My daughter has learned that she can make noise, like whenever she wants. It's awesome.
(That was Juicy stealing pizza off the dining room table at the end. AND YES, I was totally watching Supernanny. Actually, gobbling up every word Jo Frost had to say is more like it. Love her, and also am scared to death of one day having my teenage daughter pop off and call me "bitch." Woah.)
Sydney also has a favorite stuffed friend who we've creatively nicknamed "Lovey Bear." He plays a lullabye for her when getting her diaper changed is SO ANNOYING. He also accompanies her on car rides so she won't get too lonely in the back seat all alone.
And since she's talking, she asked that I go ahead and post her new author profile photo. For, you know, when she takes over the family business (which, sadly, amounts to this blog, and a pile of unwritten thank-you notes that have been on my desk since her baby shower last summer).
One more thing: Why are men so hard to shop for? My own husband isn't a problem, but other people's husbands? IMPOSSIBLE. And it's so anti-climactic to watch someone open a gift card, isn't it?
p.s. In retrospect the phrase "other people's husbands" might not be the best choice of words … I would like to clarify my statement and say that the "husbands" to which I was referring are: a) also my daughter's grandfather, b) my daughter's uncle, and c) my sister's boyfriend who is not even technically a husband but we REALLY REALLY like him.