Blog a la Cart

Him: While you were gone I made Addison cry. She shed her first parental induced tears that were completely independent of physical injury.

Me: Wow, well that sounds like we abuse our child.

Him: You know what I mean! Normally she cries because she falls down and bumps her head on something in that split second when we’re not shadowing her every move. Today, she cried because I’d, ya know, hurt her feelings.

Me: You asshat, what did you do?

Him: I was changing her diaper, and you know how she likes to throw her hands down in the vag area, ESPECIALLY when feces is involved, and it makes the whole event an epically shit-filled affair?

Me: Yeah, it’s called our life.

Him: Well, I kept moving her hands away complimented with saying No,  in hopes that she would get the anti-poop-in-hands memo.

Me: Let me guess, she did not.

Him: Correct. After the fourth attempt, I was fed up and pulled her hands away and said, NO! like ‘rul sternly.

Me: Complete with your wild crazy monkey eyes?

Him: Yes, complete with wild crazy monkey eyes. And she just looked at me, her entire mouth downturned, and she began to weep. Like, WEEP! The way you weep when I tell you that one day Ursa is in fact going to die despite your demands that she live forever and you interpret that to mean that I’m going to kill her, stuff her, and display her above the mantel and that I think you’re fat. So I was like, Fine! Fine! It’s okay! Put your hands in your poopy vagina!

Me: Dude, you are so toast when she’s sixteen and wants to know way she can’t “watch a movie” with her boyfriend under closed door circumstances and begins to dramatically sob, complete with mascara runs, while claiming that you’re ruining her life.

Him: Can we have a boy next?