Er mah gersh, Reader. My time has been swallowed up lately. I mean, it’s been pretty fun, except for the having to keep my house clean all. the. time. because it’s sort of like I’m running a flop-house lately, with folks coming and going. Which I love, truly, except for the non-self-cleaning house.
In fact, I have kumpney coming in a few short hours and I need to clean up after my
eight three cats, who are really quite filthy. It’s difficult to believe that such cuteness can cause so much dirt, but somehow they manage.
Speaking of cuteness, some of my company was from out of town and they brought our baby back to visit.
He’s one and walking.
That’s a whole lot different than when he was six months and snuggly. Now he’s squirmy and fast.
This was my view of him much of the time, as he toddled down my hallway in search of “kee-kee”.
Kee-Kee hissed at him and totally hurt his feelings, resulting in an all-out bawl with crocodile tears. It took a major distraction with a non-working remote to soothe his ruffled feathers.
The other upside to seeing my family is that I had been going through a phase – a phase I was even vocalizing – that I felt I was ready to have a baby, right now in my life. At the age of 50. I was having a yearning for soft cuddly babyness.
Except. Fifty is too old to chase endlessly after a baby. At least this fifty year old is. I was bushed. Did you know walking babies need constant monitoring?? I mean, unlike a cat, you can’t just let him off to do his own thing for a few hours. I’m not cut out for that.
Thank God my ovaries know better and have been looking out on my behalf for several years now.
I got my baby cravings calmed right the fuck down. I’m best suited for the role of visiting.
My Mister pointed out – harshly, and a little uncalled for, if you ask me – that when the baby is my age, I’ll be 101. Which is unfathomable to me. I mean, he won’t even KNOW me. I’ll be that distant relation he visits occasionally who always wants to kiss his face, offers him a hard candy that has a little lint stuck to it from her housecoat pocket, and smells like powder and age.
But for now? I made him snuggle a little, because I’m bigger than he is and that’s the way it works.
And oh, p.s., I know that’s an awful picture, with no makeup, bad skin and bags under my eyes, and it’s okay because you don’t need to think I’m always glamourous. I’m keeping it real, so you feel better about yourself.
Now I really do have to dash, that kumpney is on their way and I need to de-cat the house with a quick little whore’s bath. And slap some fresh sheets on their bed.
Come over and visit. The house’ll be clean for a couple more days. Maybe.