Consistently Inconsistent

The above title of this entry is what The Man often calls The Baby. I agree on most days except for when she's screaming. Then I say she's "consistently consistent". (I jest about how much she screams, because if I told you my child was generally pleasant, smiles and laughs 89% of the day, and giggles with pure delight at most anything with which she comes into contact, well, that just wouldn't be funny. And then you'd hate me. I can't handle that. Just ask my shrink.)

But, its really true. My kid is just happy. I know this is how they "trick" you into having another one. Then you DO have another one and that kid sets the house on fire at 8 months, strangles the cats, and calls DHS as soon as they can jabber to report all the vodka you give them at night to knock them out. Little Bastard. In fact, I'm so sure this would happen if we had another one I'm trying to mentally tie my tubes as I type this.

I would say that "we've been blessed with an absolutely wonderful child" but I've learned that lesson in parenthood. As soon as you say something out loud...it NEVER WORKS AGAIN. This goes for sleeping habits, eating habits, dressing habits, playing habits, and for almost anything the child can do that either pisses you off or makes you laugh with pure joy. The Man and I have learned this lesson the hard way. In fact, now, when people say something generally positive about our child, you can probably hear us scream from two blocks away, "DON'T SAY THAT OUT LOUD." It doesn't help that The Man and I are horribly superstitous and think that pretty much anything we say can be spoken into existance. Due to this, we both feel a little responsible for Obama getting elected. You can thank us for this later.

Case in point: Yesterday I made a yummy dinner of organic homemade mac and cheese, carrots, and broccoli for her dinner. I SLAVE FOR THESE DINNERS. In fact, I think The Man gets a little jealous because I make tiny amounts of wonderful food for these "baby-sized" dinners and then look at him and say, "Um, don't you have a Totino's in the freezer?" Last night most of the mac and cheese ended up hanging on part of the kitchen wall, down her shirt, and on the living room floor. No, she wasn't moving while she was eating. I'll let you imagine that scenerio yourself. So, I ended up feeding her what she would eat. Strawberries and Godlfish crackers.

I texted my mother a delightfully witty line (at least I thought so) saying something like, "Dinner Served: Organic mac and cheese, carrots, and broccoli. Dinner Eaten: Berries and goldfish crackers"

My mother responded to this with, "Don't think its good at this age to not make her eat what you offer. Won't it spoil her?"

I TEXTFULLY LAUGHED IN HER FACE. This woman obviously does not understand the HORROR that is my child faced with food she does not feel like eating. There is no shrugging. There is no "trying of one bite". There is no "No, thank you." There is gagging, and opening of the mouth and spitting food into the neck of her shirt, there are handfuls of food snuck under the high chair tray and thrown on the floor. There is chaos and darkness and its somewhat like Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" with less Viggo and more ashy Apocolyptic scenes and gnashing of teeth. In short, its not pleasant. So, usually, after ten minutes of attempting to feed her something that won't make her GROW BOOBS AT THE AGE OF NINE. I give up and give her fruit and some version of a cracker. She is happy. We are happy. The cats come out from their hiding places because they no longer hear the small hairless thing in the living room keening and wailing. In short, there is sweet, sweet bliss. Then we all go to bed satisfied to live another day.

My mother keeps my child on Fridays while I work. She wonderfully works a 10 hour four day work week so she can do this on Fridays. Just for shits and giggles (and to get back at her for all the many and varied things she did to me in my childhood)I sent the leftover mac and cheese, carrots, and broccoli to her house with a note that said, "TRY IT. I'll stand back and laugh."

Around 1pm I get a text from her with this picture:





The caption read: "I WON!! NANA LOST! BERRIES AND FISH CRACKERS FOR LUNCH!"

I immediately sent one back that said, "Hurling? Lots of screaming? Hand beating on the high chair? Glueing of lips together?"

Mom wrote one back, "Yes, that sounds familiar."

HA. Just wait until I send some meat over there. Then you might really get a taste of what its like at my house around 7pm and why the cats take cover under large pieces of furniture.

So, we get her back this afternoon and The Man once again tries with the mac and cheese. (Have I mentioned we are also both self-hating masochists?) I sit in the living room painting my toe nails, having a cocktail, and waiting for the nuclear fall out.

It is quiet in the kitchen.

I am intrigued. But, my toes aren't dry. So, I sit and finish painting and drinking my gin and tonic. Maybe I am drunk and Satan has struck me deaf and I have yet to realize it.

I finally get up and walk in the kitchen and The Man stops me at the door and whispers, "Don't say anything out loud. Just leave the room and whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK HER IN THE EYE." Like she's a cornered possum or something.

As I pivot to leave, I try to catch a glimpse of the imp out of the corner of my eye. There she is...sitting big as shit in the high chair shoveling handfuls of mac and cheese and carrots into her mouth as she giggles and talks gibberish to the cats.

Consistently inconsistent, I tell you.