knock, knock

It seems like it was only a matter of hours after I wrote my last post, in which I pretty much said I’d rather be up all night taking care of a kid than my bladder, that Henry decided to put that bullshit theory to the test. It was just one of his usual snotty, coughing colds but sleep has been sucking mightily this week. I am sort fog catching up on sleep but I have been in a fog all week. Jason had to do so work so thankfully he was able to take Henry to my mom’s for a few hours this morning so I can get some freelance web work out of the way. I have been putting it off forever and finally got a deadline from my client. I am still not interested in doing it but I hate having things hanging over my head so this is for the best. I also got a serious draft of my biggest project done at work this week so I am beginning to see a small, faraway light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh yeah, random but since I mentioned it before, I am off wheat, which is a huge pain but I am feeling much better so it’s definitely worth it. We’ll just see if this continues to be an issue with the kid while breastfeeding and beyond for me. Probably wouldn’t be such a bad thing but, oy the inconvenience!

Henry has discovered the knock knock joke. He’s still a little young to really get it the whole structure completely but he loves saying either part, particularly if it includes “bannana who?” He has tried to make up a few himself, one of which includes a chicken bone. Kids (or is it just mine?) are so fucking weird. On one hand he’s just repeating what he has heard and trying to make people laugh. This is completely expected but the part I love is that I will find him muttering the lines of the joke to himself and cracking up. And I mean really cracking up like he is being tickled and can’t catch his breath. He’ll be all red-cheeked from laughing and say “who’s there? Orange, mama! So funny.” and roll his eyes and laugh some more. It’s pretty much the best thing ever.

I have gotten some polite cues from friends that they are sick of hearing me mention/bitch about how big my belly is and how one or two random people have commented about it. Fair enough. But, without the bitching and moaning and can you believe what that person/bitch said I will continue to document the unsolicited comments here. Just for the record and because I simply can’t let it go altogether. So, perhaps this will be the last but that’s not a bet I would be willing to take. Earlier in the week, while waiting to order at a Mexican restaurant, a couple of women engaged me in pleasantries about how cute Henry was being and how old he was, etc. one of them then asked if he knew about the baby. Yes. Then she asked if I was there to eat spicy food to get the baby to “come now.” I said, “No, I’m not even close.” They both said with wide eyes, “Really! How far are you?” I said, “six months.” Then came my favorite, “is it twins?” Nope. That was close to it and Henry and I quickly moved away to sit as fast as I could. Hmm, not ending with my commentary on that is harder than I thought but I will refrain.