Noah finally had his two-year checkup today, because of reasons that had nothing to do with me forgetting to make the appointment, oh no no noooo, and you know what I did?
DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DID?
I gave him a sippy cup of milk. BEFORE his shots. BEFORE his blood test for lead. BEFORE the nurse started squeezing out drops of blood from his finger, one by one by one and then STAB STAB STAB in the THIGH THIGH THIGH* and yes, he screamed until he puked up the milk all over us both.
I had two (2) baby wipes with me. The nurse handed me a bucket and the paper towel from the baby scale and left, probably wondering why the hell I even bothered to show up, why not just send the fleet of nannies in, for all the practical parenting knowledge I clearly possessed.
Milk. I GAVE HIM MILK. Good God.
*Noah and his thighs are, by the way, only 28 pounds. He's gained 18 pounds in his whole entire life. I gain and lose that much every other holiday. The doctor has ordered Pediasure and butter, STAT.
**Hey, you know what else I did today? I looked out the peephole on our front door because Ceiba was barking, barking like HALP HALP WEEZ BEIN INVADED and I saw...branches. Branches! Like from a Christmas tree! Like someone had marched up to our door and left a Christmas tree propped on our stoop and oh hell, we did not order a Christmas tree, and who ORDERS Christmas trees, is that even possible, and what are the odds there's a phone number attached to that Christmas tree that I can call and complain about this unauthorized Christmas tree delivery? Or should I just keep the Christmas tree? I mean, we do need a Christmas tree. But stealing a Christmas tree? What's next, swiping mangers? BB gunning inflatable reindeer? Oh God, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this fucking tree?
It was like my own personal pile of pallets. For five whole minutes, which is when I opened the front door and realized I was looking at the Christmas wreath we hung up over the weekend. The end.