My Body Is A Cage

I just can’t get behind wearing sunglasses indoors. I’m all for impractical fashion statements — after all, it’s not like a necklace serves any purpose, when you get right down to it — but if I don’t care who you are, if you’re wearing sunglasses indoors, at night, you’re a douche. I mean, RIGHT? How is this not such ubiquitous common knowledge that no one dares attempt it, for fear of public stoning? EVEN YOU, USHER. Or perhaps, especially you.

So! Today, I was chatting with Adam and being a total smuggimus douchimus about how since having Sam I’ve really gotten it together! I haven’t dropped the baby, spilled copious amounts of paint, smeared dog poop on my forehead or pulled any of my pre-kid hijinks! Look at me, all MATURING AND TOGETHER AND SHIT. Motherhood has turned me into a responsible adult! AM GENIUS.

(Honestly, you guys, I thought this. What an asshole I am, right? I mean, who thinks that, much less admits it, but y’all, really, I was all, LOOK AT ME GO!)

ORILLY, JONNA?

We had tacos for dinner, and though Sam is at the age where apparently she can eat whatever we eat, I’m thinking, tacos? Really? I mean, is there a way to present tacos in a way that is both practical and palatable to a miniature person who is still incapable of wielding a spoon, much less a crispy taco shell? No, no, I decided. Best to stick with the usual fare, I say! (Strawberries, carrots and grilled cheese, if you were wondering.)

And then she was all excited about the tacos and wanted to TRY the tacos and I’m thinking, well, if I break off a small enough piece, hey, no problem, LOOK AT ME GO, FEEDING MY BABY TACOS! MARVEL AT MY COMPETENCE IN REARING A BABY WHO IS NOT ONLY SURVIVING BUT HAS AN ADVENTUROUS PALATE.

(Smuggimous! douchimus! for so many reasons, not the least of which is, really? Tacos from an Old El Paso taco kit are haute international cuisine? REALLY?)

And she loved it! For like, a minute, and then there was, oh my God you guys, SCREAMING. BLOODY SCREAMING. Red-faced screaming and flailing and SCAH-REEMING and I’m all, is she choking? (Because of course, when people are choking, they scream.) And then I stuck my fingers in her mouth, fishing around and the screaming intensified and I’m all WHAT THE HELL OH MY GOD WHY THE SCREAMING?

Oh hi, there were jalapenos on that taco. I mean, I didn’t feed her a jalapeno, but have YOU ever touched your eye after handling peppers? And you guys, I not only fed her a bit of taco that was BEPEPPERED, but I was all fishing my bepeppered fingers in her already-painful mouth and HOO BOY, I’d be screaming, too, because MY MOTHER IS A BITCH WHO IS TRYING TO KILL ME, you know what I’m saying?

I basically fed jalapenos to my baby. Full of win, this one.

Oh, but the comeuppance had not yet ended! I got in a stupid bickering match with Adam and was all stubborn and bitchy because he was right and I didn’t want to admit it (I finally did), and stewed about THAT for a little while, but when I went to walk the dog, OH! That’s when the gods decided this bitch needed to be smacked, quite literally, as I got tangled in the dog’s leash and just fucking HIT THE GROUND in the driving, freezing rain yelling, for reasons that have yet to make any sense to me, “AHHH MOMS FALL! MOMS FALL! MOMS FALL!” while Sunny squealed in pain as she choked on the leash. And then this neighbor guy, who fell once and literally couldn’t get up, JUST LIKE THE COMMERCIALS, leaving Adam to scrape him off the pavement, was all, “YOU’RE FALLING!” And I’m all, “MOMS FALL! MOMS FALL!”

YOU GUYS. I can never leave the house again.

Was I referring to myself in the third person? Having a moment of comeuppance that I realized that mothers are not infallible? Oh, these are deep thoughts indeed, smuggimous douchimus. DEEP THOUGHTS, INDEED.

Yogurt on her face and hair. Why? Because after the jalapeno incident, I was all, “EAT THE YOGURT! EAT THE YOGURT!” and proceeded to paint her with it.

I hope you guys have a better Wednesday.

*Arcade Fire

34 comments March 30th, 2010