The other day my miniature sidekick celebrated nine months of not sleeping! No, she sleeps far better than I do. Honestly. I can’t sleep through the night. Someone should really make me cry it out*. Or spank me to sleep**.
She only cries when she sees her relatives, and the other day when some lady in the grocery store looked at her. I should have thought of that years ago! No looking at me now. Don’t make me do it. I’m talking to you, ugly head. Go back over by the frozen shrimp where you belong.
Best of all, she has learned to flip her lip with her finger and make the noise “A-bee-ba-dee-ba-dee.” The MacArthur Foundation has not stopped hounding us.
Anyway, last weekend I ran an ultramarathon (this is a lie), and I’m thinking I’m getting kind of bored with those. I could do another triathlon, but that would mean doing even one triathlon first to justify the use of the word “another.” Maybe I will finish that seven foot scarf in my knitting bag instead.
*personal parenting pet peeve; this is sarcasm.
**is this dirty?