I am eating tiny frozen Heath bars.
I just finished 2 cheese and tomato sandwiches, and needed some sugar because I am ready to throw a certain 18 month old into a FedEx box and ship him anywhere but here. True story: his parents were going to have more kids until they got to know him. They are finished.
It's not that this kid isn't sweet and wonderful, he is. He is also the most stubborn and persistent child that doesn't sleep, ever. He also likes to climb and jump and he laughs when he runs face first into walls. He has already given himself a concussion, and his mom has asked the doctor about helmets because we both thought he might be giving himself brain damage with all his high jinx. He also loves to ice skate. But that's beside the point. The point is: if I didn't love his mother so very much I would have kicked him out of here ages ago. He doesn't talk, he screams, he whines, he has a shit explosion nearly every week and sometimes more than that, and if he isn't one of the cutest kids ever I'm a monkey. But it's mighty fucking frustrating, cute or no.
So...how're you? Aside from toddler of doom, I'm good! The thought of flour made me throw up two days ago, and it's been uphill from there. I see the doc Friday. I am nervous. Come on, baby, cooperate! Show us your bits! John and I have been debating names in our spare time. Names that are out: Madeline - too popular. Indira - John says too exotic. Winnifred - hell no says me. We're not having a ton of luck with boy names. John likes a few, and I'm not really crazy about any of them. Whether or not it's an issue is yet to be seen.
Well, all kids are awake, thank you problem child. On the bright side we're in the January thaw, so it's nice outside. In the 50's! And we're going to bake some bread, and work on our scarecrow. It'll be a nice afternoon...