Dear #%@# Baby:
Did you have fun yesterday? Did you notice a difference in Mama’s attitude, fun level, patience and easygoingness? Because I sure as shit did.
Look back, try and recall what was different. Think hard. Rememmmmber.
SLEEP. YOU $^@$!#%ING SLEPT. LIKE, ALL THE TIME. WITHOUT BEING SICK.
And it was awesome. Continue reading
I CRAFTED, BITCHES.
It started with Little A becoming obsessed with and batting Christmas trees over Thanksgiving and breaking a (luckily unimportant) ornament at his great-grandparents house. Then it was becoming obsessed with and batting our tree and being unresponsive, AS PER USUAL, to the word no. I needed a solution.
Enter Pinterest, that demon spawn. 
I saw this pin for a felt Christmas tree after a friend pinned it. I thought, “Oh, that’s cute! Maybe that will work as a distraction!” And then I was all, “Oh god, then I’d have to velcro on all of the ornaments and then he’ll scratch his face and nope not worth it.” But then, THEN, I actually read the blog that the pin linked to and discovered that felt…wait for it..are you ready for this…sticks to felt.
FELT STICKS TO ITSELF WHAT THE FUCK THAT’S AWESOME HOW DID I NEVER KNOW THAT?!
So I drove to Wal-Mullet for felt because I needed milk too, then went to Michael’s for the big green piece of felt because Wal-Mullet sucks and in 30 minutes I had a goddamn Feltivus tree.
I opted not to make a felt aluminum pole. Not enough area to stick felt grievances.
Little A sort of plays with it. It does not provide the “hours of entertainment” the original link promised. BUT that was a girl, Little A is a mini-man of ultimate destruction so my hopes may have been a little high. He does occasionally randomly play with it on his own and he’ll put the ornaments on if you hand them to him one by one.
Then he tears them all down and tries to pull the tree off of the door.
But seriously, this is the easiest craft in crafting history and you should probably make one.
Directions if you’re inept and/or crafting stupid:
Scissors
Felt
Hot Glue if you’re feeling feisty
3M Command Strips
Cut a large piece of green felt into a triangle or a real pine shape if you’re a show-off. Cut smaller ornaments out of felt. Decorate smaller ornaments with other shit with hot glue if you’re so inclined.
Slap that bitch on the wall with some Command Strips. If you have a boy child, secure all loose edges with double stick tape for extra support.
Total time: 30 minutes.
Total cost: $7, plus lots of extra felt you’ll have sitting around forever
Moments like when the kid sticks all the ornaments on Dad and your cold little heart melts?
#@%!^%! priceless.
Decorating Dad 101
Why do kids love the toys you hate most? Do they have extrasensory perception and think, Oh man. She hates this shit. I’M GOING TO LOVE IT AND GO BATSHIT FOR IT.
The most recent offender? The V-Tech Rhyme and Discover book.
It’s got lights. Sounds. Moving parts. Music. Animals. It’s the perfect storm of baby toys.
And I want to kill it with fire.
The woman’s voice is flat and condescending. And demanding. “Turn the page!” “It’s time for a rhyme!” “Find the kitty!”
You’re a toy. Let my kid tell YOU want to do.
Sing ME a song, bitch.
On top of that, she starts a song AND THEN REFUSES TO FINISH. The crappy Casio keyboard band keeps playing but she disappears to go chug some vodka. Leaving the parent, presumably, to finish the damn rhyme for her. But guess what! I don’t remember any of that shit.
Hey. Crazy V-Tech Book Lady. DO YOUR %!#! JOB!!
And add a Samba beat to it. Spice it up.
And, as if that wasn’t enough, if you do remember the words, SHE SINGS DIFFERENT ONES.
Ring around the rosy
The doggy chased the kitty
Hush-a hush-a they all fall down
What. the. shit. is. THAT?!
It’s a rhyme and discover book, correct?
That doesn’t even rhyme.
I’ll let that sink in.
I’m discovering this toy sucks.
I also had no idea pockets full of posies were so offensive.
I hate it. I hide it under the crib and use it only in the case of baby melt-down emergencies.
KILL IT WITH FIIIRRREE.
Coming to you direct from the couch and my phone! Lately the kid has been decreasing his nap time which I’ve come to find out is normal. Which is stupid. If they’re more active, shouldn’t they nap more?? But I digress.
If he is napping in the play yard or his crib, I’m lucky to get twenty or thirty minutes of slumber out of him. If we’re snuggling on the couch, I can get over an hour. If he’s napping with my husband on the couch, those sleep monsters go for two hours. And don’t get me wrong, I love the times when we cuddle on the couch together. It gives me a chance to relax and I live for baby snuggles and even sort of like the banana breath. But sometimes, like now, I have shit to do. Or I’m hungry. Or I need to pee. OR ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Do I suffer a day with short naps and deal with the cranky baby at night or do I sacrifice time and responsibilities so he can get a decent nap in? I’m trying to find the balance but the times HE wants to snuggle always up as the most inopportune for me.
He has it in for me, I swear.
Damn it I really have to pee.
Dirty me with minimal make-up and Elvis hair. You’re welcome.
Let’s face it. Come to terms with it. There’s nothing wrong with it, really. The kid likes it, right? That’s all the matters. But the truth is…
SOPHIE THE GIRAFFE IS A GODDAMN DOG TOY.
It’s rubber. It squeaks. Sounds like a chew toy for the ol’ mutt, doesn’t it.
Photo credit: Amazon
Well, belovers of this antique french giraffe.
IT IS.
IT’S A GLORIFIED DOG TOY MARKETED FOR YOUR CHILD.
Those French sure are smart.
Picture it. Not Sicily. 1961. Somewhere in Paris. You know the inventor was just sitting there. Little wedge of brie. Little glass of wine. Reading philosophy* or some crap. Little Pomeranian by his side. Gnawing on a little rubber pork chop.
He hears the kid cry in the other room. The wife went to the market. The nanny was off duty. The kid was teething.
Not knowing what to do – hey, this was back in the day and you know most dads couldn’t do shit – he frantically tried to find the solution to make this infant shut its yap.
Bottle? Nope.
Blanket? Mais non.
Cuddles? LOL French men don’t cuddle.
In throes of fury he yanks the pork chop from the Pom, shoves it in le bebe’s facehole.
Yikes. But baby noms. Baby is happy. Baby bites down.
Sqquuueaaaaaak. Baby squeals with glee.
Well. That sure did the trick now, didn’t it.
DOG TOY SAVED THE DAY FOR FRENCH DAD.
He knows he’s not the rightful owner.
He thought, “C’est bon! Let’s sell the shit out of this thing!”
And the rest, shall we say, is history.
Thankfully, someone had enough foresight into making it a cute little giraffe with a sweet little name. Otherwise babies across the world could be nomming on rubber pork chops or hamburgers right now.
Which actually would be sort of cute, though way less marketable. Although I bet they could have made Sophie the Steak work.
But yeah. Next time your kid is drooling on that thing, remember this history lesson. It’s a dog toy. And that’s okay. Just don’t let the baby and the dog share it. That’s gross.
.
.
* He could have been reading philosophy or…wait for it…philosophie. Huh? HUH?? Oh god. I am ashamed of myself. Big A must have wore off on me over the extended weekend. Apologies.
Dear #$&!% Baby 