Watching you watching me

Oh hi, Content Challenge! Hi! You look so pretty! Is that your prettiest outfit? I think it is. Let’s have an adventure, shall we?

I mentioned I’d gone back to a therapist after a baby was born, but that’s not the full story. I went all of four times. The first two times, I wept uncontrollably for fifty minutes. The next two times, she was able to get a word in edgewise now and then. I received such helpful advice as “make time for you” and “schedule a date night.” What, is she going to come to my house and put her doctorate to use babysitting while I take a relaxing Me Time bath? It’s hard enough to arrange baby wrangling to go to therapy, for fuck’s sake. Each hour I spend away from a baby is an hour when a baby may accidentally learn a Massachusetts accent.

And lately I’ve been trying to decide if I’m nuts or not, but I can’t go back to that therapist. The reason why probably answers the nuts question once and for all. I can’t go back because she drinks twenty ounce full-calorie sodas. At 10 a.m., not even in conjunction with a meal. And there are more empties on her desk. I hate seeing people eat or drink things. And soda! A slurry of corn syrup! Don’t people with degrees know there are calories in soda? You could have a croissant or something actually delicious instead! Like maybe some Emergency Chocolate.

With all the time I save not going to therapy, I’m able to learn new ways to tie a baby to my body. Tomorrow we will try this at the post office.

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