This whole week has felt like a hemorrhoid. A large, throbbing 40th week of pregnancy hemorrhoid that your OB won’t lance because she’s evil and believes “it will just go away on its own,” but it won’t because you’re 195 pounds, hosting a living being in your body and you can’t see your feet and it hurts to walk anyway because you’re carrying around a third ass-cheek and no one wants to lance a hemorrhoid that huge because what if you die! Could you imagine what the CSI investigators would say to each other?
“After investigating, I conclude that she died from an big ass wound.”
“Horatio, do you mean, she died from a big ass wound or a big ass wound?” and this would go on for a while because they couldn’t stop laughing at their stupid ass jokes, and stupid ass jokes.
Last night we went to the grocery store and Nathan ran around and translated my bellowing, “DO NOT RUN! THIS IS NOT A PLAYGROUND!” into “I’m sorry, was my yelling in the way of your running rampant down the dairy aisle? Please sir, continue!” To keep him from dashing out the doors of the store while I paid for the items, I plopped him into the grocery cart, and he screamed. I patted his head, told him it’s okay, but that didn’t cease the screaming, the screaming like he was being abducted or pulled out of the park’s wading pool. And no other kid was crying at that time, and all the other parents were so grateful it wasn’t their child because THEIR CHILDREN ARE PERFECT BEINGS.
When we got home, I was famished, furious and feebly throwing dinner together when Nathan started laughing at the box of rice a roni and I didn’t feel like jumping off a balcony anymore. So I guess he wins.
And this of course reminds me of the first rice a roni video, when Nathan was only nine months old: