Teeth

There are two things that automatically calm Samantha when she’s having a crappy day — which, by the looks of her swollen red lower gums, are coming fast, furious and OFTEN these days, because clearly, kid’s teeth feel like ASS. First, her kitty rug, seen in this photo. Take her clothes off, lay her down and glee ensues without fail, complete with screechy sound effects. And the second, which is perhaps my favorite, is to hold her up in front of the mirror and ask, “Who’s the pretty baby? Who’s the pretty baby in the mirror?” Invariably, she will gaze lovingly at herself and smile the proudest smile in the world, sometimes holding her hands to her chest as if to say, “ME! I am SO PRETTY! ME!”

In that moment, I think my heart is going to explode, because — and forgive me for entering schmoopy, parent-y heart-clutching territory here — I hope she always feels that way about herself. I hope she always looks in the mirror and thinks that she is the prettiest, most awesome thing in the world (and yet, uhh, remains humble), even if her thigh rolls could hide a full picnic lunch.

I’ve entered one of those mythical stages of parenthood where every day holds at least one moment where I think that I cannot possibly love her any more; that she cannot get any more awesome, and then, I promise you, she does something so delightful that I think, well, shit. I think I love you even more now, kid. How’d you do that?

I hastily add that every day also holds at least one moment where I find myself thinking, oh my GOD, kid, just CLOSE YOUR EYES, because the world will be SO MUCH BETTER FOR ALL OF US if you could just TAKE A NAP.

Ahem.

Which brings me to the fact that for the last two days, my daughter hasn’t wanted to nap ANYWHERE but in the Ergo. On me. Leaving me trapped on the couch beneath a beautiful-but-heavy sleeping baby and a few times, I’d reached the End of the Internet. And AHOY! I have a point that is not baby-related.

But first! Let me back up! It is a miracle that I am happily married, because you guys, when I was single, I was the PICKIEST EVER. And about stuff that would seem stupid at first blush, but that would turn into this massive … thing that I’m sorry, I just could not get past. For example, three dates into a budding relationship with a guy who seemed decent enough, I suddenly realized that his eyes were a little wide-set for his face, and like magic, his once-handsome face morphed into that of a slug and … well, suffice it to say THAT goodnight kiss did not happen, nor did date four.

Another potential suitor met his demise when I realized with horror, somewhere around Date Five, that he had fatboy hands. He was handsome, sweet and … and then, rather suddenly, I took a good look at his hands and saw nothing but Jimmy Dean breakfast links. Oh, sure, we went out a few more times after that, but by then I’d started referring to him to my friends as Piggy Bojangles, and … well, you can never be serious about a person you call Piggy Bojangles, I don’t care how nice he is.

For the record, 11 years in to my relationship with Adam, I have yet to have anything remotely resembling a Piggy Bojangles moment. I hope nothing ever happens to him, because I have LITTLE HOPE of finding such a miracle in another human being, and am clearly destined to be alone forever.

Enter Eric the Vampire and his Piggy Bojangles moment. Remember the other day how I was all wondering what the HELL was with Eric’s disembodied head during the naked Sookie scene in this week’s True Blood? Well. WELL. I re-watched the episode in question during one of Sam’s Ergo naps, and came to a startling discovery:

Alexander Skarsgard suffers from Wee Head Syndrome. Big, ripped body and small, pea-sized head? Wrong. Pea-head dudes take note. If your head is small, keep your body in proportion, yo. And worse? Some End of Internet Googling to determine if this was actually the case led to the startling discovery that Skarsgard has allegedly had … silicone implants put into his back. To make it bigger I, uh, guess. To EMPHASIZE WEE HEAD SYNDROME. But really, I think this photo is enough.

And another crush bites the dust, ladies and gentlemen. I haven’t been this disappointed since Ryan Star awkwardly climbed the speakers during Baba O’Riley on the Rockstar: Supernova semi-finals, ending a season-long love affair from afar.

Finally! Two things:

– Dude, what did I say about Big Brother being boring? I lied. Oh Chima. Oh, Chima Chima Chima. And the Twittering! I think my favorite bit is when she announced that her detractors are all “fat and ugly.” Stay classy, Chima!

– Today, while walking a sleeping, Ergo’d Sam a grand total of TEN FEET to the restaurant across the street, a woman leaving the restaurant said, loudly enough for me to hear, and yet clearly, uhh, under her breath, “Stupid mother. That baby should have a hat.”

I … I yelled at her like a deranged lunatic. “WE ARE ONLY WALKING TEN FEET, WHICH IS WHY SHE DOESN’T HAVE ONE. BUT THANKS FOR NOTICING!” And then I waved my arms all menacing-like. Or more likely, crazy-like. And the worst part is that this is the smallest town ever, and she looked … familiar, which means I know I’ll see her again, and it will be hard not to clock her. Who says that? WHO SAYS THAT? OH MY GAAAAWWWWDDD.

Happy Thursday!

*Lisa Hannigan, who finally has her own solo album.

42 comments August 19th, 2009