Monthly Archive for December, 2010
Yo Momma’s Belly Is So Big
…that she can watch iPhone videos without actually holding the phone in her hands.
…that she can’t see her feet.
…that she can’t wear socks without cursing like a sailor.
…that everyone knows what she had for lunch by the crumbs pooled at the top of her belly.
…that baristas cannot help themselves but ask whether she wants (de)caffeinated coffee every time she orders a latte.
…that she moves by waddling.
…that she is her own Total Eclipse of the Ruby Head.
…that she has (too often) scraped her belly sitting down, opening the car door, reaching over the counter for cookies, and performing other everyday activities requiring a mathematical understanding of her new dimensions vis a vis her environment.
…that when she bends over to pick up anything, her ass looks as wide as her belly from behind. Sorry everyone who had to see that.
…that she feels very sorry for herself. You may too.
So if we already have a perfect little girl (see Exhibit A above), how will Number 2 turn out? As the days count down and my belly takes over, Jay and I wonder about what she will look like, what to call her, and what happens when genes and the universe collide yet again to create another tiny-baby-girl-person-type-humanoid.
We thought Ruby’s name was the bomb, so we are struggling to come up with another girl’s name. Ruby, of course, wants to name her “Tree,” so there is a 50 percent chance Tree Dokken will join our family soon.
Ruby’s pretty sure she is getting her way.
We just hope Tree turns out half as stubborn as Number 1.
Matty, who hosted the DC Xmas Party, made shirts for everyone. Thing is, you don’t get to wear your own face.
Guess who Dave’s wearing.
The DC Crew.
The DC Crew in Disguise.
You’ll never know who this deep undercover agent is.
Ruby meets Kinect. She sorta, kinda, gets it. Or not.
Right before her turn with Santa, she said, “I’m not going to cry, mom! I’m not going to cry!”
But here we are.
I’m in a random coat with my hair from hell. Jay’s got his sunglasses clipped to his tee. And Ruby is definitely crying.
Dear Miss R.,
I am sorry that you had to be part of my Mickey D’s binge this afternoon.
I am sorry that I can’t pick you up.
I am sorry that I am grouchy. And slow. And waddly.
I am sorry that I pawn off story time to dad because I increasingly can’t read a book to you without catching my breath like an old lady.
I am sorry that you have to listen to my constant whining about pain and discomfort. (And thank you for being such a good pretend doctor!)
I am sorry that you have had one too many “cereal dinners” since I don’t want to eat anything, and I don’t want to cook anything.
I am sorry that I am too tired to play with you sometimes.
I am sorry that I made you put on that mustache.
Sincerely,
Mom
1. Hey, look over there!
2. Do you want a cookie? Feel free to substitute with “chocolate milk” or “apple juice.”
3. Look, it says on the packaging that it’s only for kids older than five years old. You’re two-and-a-half. I know you know what I’m saying.
4. We have to say good-bye now. [Whatever she can't have] needs to take a nap now, just like Ruby. We can come back next time to say hi again, okay?
5. I’m leaving. I’m walking out of here. Are you coming with me?
6. I have a surprise in the car for you!
7. Do you want to help mommy get [something] from [somewhere else]?
8. Let’s go to the [playground/Starbucks/grocery/bakery/toy store]! Use dependent on which place you are actually trying to leave. The key is to never mention the word “home.”
9. Ruby, you can’t always get what you want. That’s life. I’m just preparing you for the inevitable.
10. Yes.
Ruby does not know it yet, but eBay Santa just fulfilled her Christmas List.
At the risk of sounding like a horrible human being, I want you, Person With Access To Sustenance, to know that when I go get my coffee, my snack, my lunch, I don’t want to be your best friend. I smile and make short fake conversation to get food in my belly.
Most people in the food business oblige me on this count.
My lovely baristas with their consistent, empty Good morning, how are you?s; the Chinatown lady who sells me my crack char siew buns with crusted sugar on top whose idea of conversation is, “Dollar fifty;” and the average Asian take-out joint with a “Smile, Point at Picture, Pay, Go” process all fit nicely into my general distaste for MAKING CONVERSATION WITH PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW.
Then there is this person.
This person who happens to be the manager of a neighborhood Thai restaurant with a killer menu.
I love eating there. I love ordering to go. I do not love having to chat like I care and look at photos of his kid and dogs. And by the way, we cover the same topics pretty much every time. His kid is cute. My kid is cute. His kid’s latest trick. My kid’s latest trick. His potty training techniques. My (severe lack of) potty training techniques.
Somehow along the way, I became (or rather he was led to believe) the person who CARES ABOUT THIS SHIT.
Look, Mister. If I was the me five years back, I’d have time to chat, make a new buddy, maybe get slipped a free iced tea now and then, because I’d have extra brain cells to care. These days, I am the exhausted walking undead with a toddler affixed at my knee. Knees, by the way, which I cannot see because of my giant belly.
Now when I crave yummy Thai food, I think twice about showing up there because I know it will not be an efficient Feed Hungry Dot process. I have to be in a chatty frame of mind to endure the Talk Talk Then Feed Hungry Dot routine.
It sounds so terrible, but I even find myself walking on the other side of the street so I don’t have to pass the big restaurant windows and have him wave, smile at me, and start pulling out his smartphone with the photos.
Go ahead, call me a grouch.
I am too hungry and too tired to care. GET IN MY BELLY!
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