Who needs a rubix cube, actually who does need one? Ever? But should you find yourself hankering for
one, simply try to remove the liner of a modern car seat. Same thing, only
harder. I would recommend that you not remove the liner ever, but that requires
being on the same page with your daughter as to the proper use of a diaper.
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On the dingo wrestling front,
X-Man had to have an x-ray of his adenoids today. The medication he was put on
is most definitely not doing its job. Unless its job is to produce enough snot
to lubricate an engine, in which case, I’m going to cancel the oil change I
have scheduled. The first indication that it was not going as planned was the Niagara
flow pouring from his nostrils. The second was that after three days, X-Man sat
calmly as I shot ineffective medication up his nose. Clearly, he didn’t feel a
thing.
And I have become THAT mother. The
mother who prattles on about her children’s bodily fluids. But I have reached
the point where I choose my outfits based on how best to accessorize the
eventual baby vomit and poo that I will be christened with.
I’m going to call it a night. The
father figure sauntered into the bedroom at 3:30am this morning and asked “Hey,
you wanna take me to work?” I suppose there was a choice involved; Of course my
choice would be to ditch the ridiculous temperamental car of his, that doesn’t
even hold a reasonable percentage of our children. But somehow that wasn’t in
the cards.
And as this post has been nothing
but a litany of first world problems, I should quit while I’m ahead.
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