So hubby finally made it home the other night after a rousing evening of debauchery. I was beginning to think something terrible had happened to him so by the time he stumbled in through the door, I had retrieved the copy of his will we had just signed earlier that day. I kept thinking to myself "The damn ink isn't even dry yet. This is like a made for TV movie."
Willem turned two months old yesterday and we celebrated by taking him to his pediatrician and letting his nursing assistant jab him four times in the thighs with needles. Next month we're giving him cake and sticking his hands in the candles. What a heartbreaking moment to hear him scream with the certainty that we suddenly hated him. Daddy had the cruel job of holding him down to the table so the woman could make her mark. I'm sure the kid is traumatized on some level and will pay us back someday, somehow. Luckily, I got to be the good guy/gal and smothered him with hugs and kisses after it was over.
It's no surprise to me that he now weighs 12 pounds (7lbs, 12 oz at birth) because he eats like horse at every meal. It's getting more challenging changing his diapers because I have to navigate every chubby little crevasse to find poo hidden there which takes a bit more time than he's willing to put up with. What was once a relatively manageable moment shared by mother and son has turned into a race for time and cleanliness. I swear, every day there's a new fold to unfold. Is there some way that I can start producing skim milk?
Go Go will be here in the morning. She is probably the only person I trust to leave my child with and know I don't have to worry about him at all so don't 'cha know I'll be racing like mad out of the house tomorrow for a shopping spree! Stay off the streets. Fair warning.
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