I have recently discovered that a baby hates other children She screws up her face and glares at the sound of their shrieks and giggles, but she is happy to make eyes at adults. It’s a good thing she’ll be an only child. Hell is other babies, darlin’.
Mr H and I celebrated our anniversary with spaghetti and meatballs, like Lady and the Tramp. Since I’m a tramp, I guess he has to be the lady. He cooked, as a lady should. He also bought my love with a gift, which took me off guard. We never exchange gifts because we usually buy whatever we want as it occurs to us. Which is probably why we’re broke. Shiftless Americans!
It’s getting to be that time in baby ownership when it’s possible to pull one’s head out of one’s ass for brief moments. I’ve read several disturbing articles that all go something like CIA, Bush, torture, torture, and I wish I could put my head right back in my ass. Oh wait, I can take a nice long nap with the Suri Cruise photo spread draped over my face. That’ll work.
Sometimes when I can’t find Goblin Foo, I wonder if she’s snuck off and disguised herself as a baby. Goblin hates other dogs and children. She also knows how to play a harp.
Let me be the first to back you up on the only child thing. And don’t get caught in that “wouldn’t she love a little sister” argument. One is plenty.
However, how interesting it must be to be amongst people who try to name their children something that, while maybe it won’t be found on a key chain at Claire’s, will differ from their classmates.
In my neighborhood, you can’t swing a cat without hitting a Madison or a Katie.
Hey, I named my kid Harper. Guilty as charged!
One is indeed enough now that we aren’t so into plowing. The Economist agrees with me.