Charlie's First Christmas
When I got back last night, Tim had cleaned the entire house, had scented candles going, had the lights dimmed, the tree lit up, and he had bought and wrapped a bunch of presents for me and Charlie and put them under our little tree. I think he was trying to seduce me. Unfortunately, I lost consciousness as soon as the baby went to sleep. It was a nice birthday present though.
That's right. Yesterday was the first anniversary of my 29th birthday. Which...sorta means...that I'm...uh...you know..how you say, no longer in my twenties.
There.
Now. In an effort to shift to a cheerier topic, I present to you a picture of my mom's Chihuahua, Festus.
As soon as I walked in the door at my parents' house Sunday, I rushed to the bedroom with the breast pump because my girls were about to explode. I had no sooner gotten the thing going when I heard someone come in the front door. The dogs went to yapping, and then I heard the one sound that can turn my stomach. No, it's not the sound of someone vomiting, or of children being beaten, or of a kitten's head being squished under a car tire. It was Aunt C's screeching voice, doing the caw caw cawwing that she does to announce herself when she enters a place, as if the scent of Pomeranian poop, body odor, and cigarettes had not crept under the door and announced her arrival as soon as she pulled into the driveway.
They were in the living room for a few minutes-- I could hear them, of course, because no matter what room you're in at my mom's house, you can hear everything that's going on in every other room. They were playing with the most annoying toy ever created-- a Christmas tree that dances and sings (LOUDLY) while the lights blink. My grandmother got it for Charlie. One of them gets something like that every year, and carries it around showing it off like it's the coolest thing ever invented. Like nobody else has ever seen a loud ass dancing Christmas tree, ever, but they're all dying to, and will be impressed that she managed to snag such a treasure.
WTF????
As soon as the dancing tree cut off, I heard my grandmother ask where I was, and Mom told her I was pumping. Then I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward my door. I already knew who it was, and looked to see if the door was locked. Annnnnd of course it was not. Hell, I'm lucky there was a door there. (If you read this blog in its earliest days, you know why.) Anyway, the door flung open and in popped the head of the beast. I said, "I'll be out in just a minute." She said, "It's just me." (Just me? What was she thinking? Like there are relatives who enjoy the special privilege of seeing me hooked up to a breast pump? No, nobody is allowed to see that, and if there was some special club, she wouldn't be in it!) I said, "I will be out. In just. A minute." Now, a normal person would shut the door at that point, but not Aunt C. Instead she just stood there staring at my nipples being pulled by the contraption, and said, "That fascinates me."
I didn't even have a response for that, but a sound left my body. It was a combination of a grunt and a desperate sigh. It was the sound that comes out when you want to cuss but are too weirded out to form words. She finally left and shut the door. I'm not sure what I would've said if she hadn't finally taken the hint.
My sister and her crew arrived a little later, and we had our usual Christmas festivities. A big meal, lots of pictures, stories, screaming and laughing kids, etc. And don't forget everyone's favorite Christmas tradition-- watching me cringe when Aunt C comes to hug me. I hate to admit it, but she didn't smell that bad this year, and once the booby watching incident was over, I was less annoyed with her than I normally am.
Maybe I was just too busy trying to make sure nobody dropped Charlie on his little head. Considering the fact that he was being passed back and forth between my father (who isn't supposed to hold anything heavier than a phone book until his neck heals), my niece (who is 6 years old and thought he was a baby doll), and my grandmother (who is 87 and senile) him getting dropped seemed like a real possibility.
He didn't, though. Here are some pics of Charlie not being dropped.
So far, Charlie's first Christmas has been pretty good. We're going to open presents here on Christmas morning before Tim goes to work, and then we'll have go see Tim's side of the family on the 26th. I'm not worried about any of them dropping him, but I'm pretty sure his camera-happy sister is going to burn Charlie's corneas with her damn flash. Maybe I can find him some cool shades to wear.
That's right. Yesterday was the first anniversary of my 29th birthday. Which...sorta means...that I'm...uh...you know..how you say, no longer in my twenties.
There.
Now. In an effort to shift to a cheerier topic, I present to you a picture of my mom's Chihuahua, Festus.
As soon as I walked in the door at my parents' house Sunday, I rushed to the bedroom with the breast pump because my girls were about to explode. I had no sooner gotten the thing going when I heard someone come in the front door. The dogs went to yapping, and then I heard the one sound that can turn my stomach. No, it's not the sound of someone vomiting, or of children being beaten, or of a kitten's head being squished under a car tire. It was Aunt C's screeching voice, doing the caw caw cawwing that she does to announce herself when she enters a place, as if the scent of Pomeranian poop, body odor, and cigarettes had not crept under the door and announced her arrival as soon as she pulled into the driveway.
They were in the living room for a few minutes-- I could hear them, of course, because no matter what room you're in at my mom's house, you can hear everything that's going on in every other room. They were playing with the most annoying toy ever created-- a Christmas tree that dances and sings (LOUDLY) while the lights blink. My grandmother got it for Charlie. One of them gets something like that every year, and carries it around showing it off like it's the coolest thing ever invented. Like nobody else has ever seen a loud ass dancing Christmas tree, ever, but they're all dying to, and will be impressed that she managed to snag such a treasure.
WTF????
As soon as the dancing tree cut off, I heard my grandmother ask where I was, and Mom told her I was pumping. Then I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward my door. I already knew who it was, and looked to see if the door was locked. Annnnnd of course it was not. Hell, I'm lucky there was a door there. (If you read this blog in its earliest days, you know why.) Anyway, the door flung open and in popped the head of the beast. I said, "I'll be out in just a minute." She said, "It's just me." (Just me? What was she thinking? Like there are relatives who enjoy the special privilege of seeing me hooked up to a breast pump? No, nobody is allowed to see that, and if there was some special club, she wouldn't be in it!) I said, "I will be out. In just. A minute." Now, a normal person would shut the door at that point, but not Aunt C. Instead she just stood there staring at my nipples being pulled by the contraption, and said, "That fascinates me."
I didn't even have a response for that, but a sound left my body. It was a combination of a grunt and a desperate sigh. It was the sound that comes out when you want to cuss but are too weirded out to form words. She finally left and shut the door. I'm not sure what I would've said if she hadn't finally taken the hint.
My sister and her crew arrived a little later, and we had our usual Christmas festivities. A big meal, lots of pictures, stories, screaming and laughing kids, etc. And don't forget everyone's favorite Christmas tradition-- watching me cringe when Aunt C comes to hug me. I hate to admit it, but she didn't smell that bad this year, and once the booby watching incident was over, I was less annoyed with her than I normally am.
Maybe I was just too busy trying to make sure nobody dropped Charlie on his little head. Considering the fact that he was being passed back and forth between my father (who isn't supposed to hold anything heavier than a phone book until his neck heals), my niece (who is 6 years old and thought he was a baby doll), and my grandmother (who is 87 and senile) him getting dropped seemed like a real possibility.
He didn't, though. Here are some pics of Charlie not being dropped.
So far, Charlie's first Christmas has been pretty good. We're going to open presents here on Christmas morning before Tim goes to work, and then we'll have go see Tim's side of the family on the 26th. I'm not worried about any of them dropping him, but I'm pretty sure his camera-happy sister is going to burn Charlie's corneas with her damn flash. Maybe I can find him some cool shades to wear.
Charlie seems to know he's in the best hands with your dad - he looks much more relaxed and happy - either that or he just unloaded a big wet poop on him. :-)
Posted by
Anonymous |
4:50 PM
He loved my dad, but he DID poop on him. Dad quickly passed him to my mother.
Posted by
Mommy Needs a Xanax |
7:58 PM