An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Typical Morning at The Armstrong Experience

The little booger woke up this morning at 6:18 AM. I absolutely loathe people who suggest that we keep her up a little later so that she will wake up later the next morning. THAT NEVER WORKS. Some sort of evil alarm goes off in her head between 6:30 – 7:00 AM every morning no matter what time we put her to bed. That alarm malfunctioned this morning and went off a little early. I wanted to run into her room and pinch her nose so that maybe she would snooze for another nine minutes.

Instead I turned over to Jon and said, “Do you hear her whining?” I could feel him nod his head and he whispered, “Let’s just let her be by herself for a little bit longer.” This is our usual tactic, to let her wake up all the way before we go in and get her out of bed. It’s our way of lying to ourselves (be by herself? what the fuck?) and rationalizing a few extra minutes of snuggling and being in the warm confines of our bed for just a few extra minutes. Screw the kid.

But the whining got really, really loud so we hopped into robot mode. I rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get rid of all the pee stored up from drinking two quarts of water before bedtime. I always forget to drink the appropriate amount of water during the day to keep my, you know, BOWEL SYSTEM IN MOTION, and then I bang down a ton of it right before I fall asleep. How someone like me earned a college degree is BOGGLING.

Jon headed to the kitchen to make the bottle in his cute little temple-garment-looking underwear. I always call him my Little Temple Worker. Jon, I know you’re reading this and pulling at your hair like you do when YOU CANNOT BELIEVE WHAT IS HAPPENING, but these things must be shared. It would not be fair to the world to keep you and your temple-garment-looking underwear all to myself.

After peeing I went into Leta’s room to find her at a 30 degree angle from the position we put her into bed. She was completely out of the covers and stuck between the sides of the crib. They don’t make cribs for abnormally tall monster spawn. We all then convened back in our bed where Jon fed the kid while I read his rant on MT categories which he had written in bed while I was asleep next to him. Had I been awake and known that he was writing such geekery I would have done naughty Boohbah things to the tools of his proceduring.

Neither one of us was fully awake, and since Leta’s two front elephant tusks are breaking through the top of her mouth she began shrieking and demanding something, everything, anything that we couldn’t give her. I handed Jon the caterpillar book, you know, the one where the caterpillar eats through all the food and then gets a belly ache. Leta immediately grabbed it, turned it upside-down and started talking monster spawn nonsense. Jon pointed out the apple and the pears and the bhhhahhhhhf that the caterpillar was eating through.

The bhhhahhhhhf? I wasn’t aware of a fruit called a bhhhahhhhhf.

Jon, half-asleep, explained, “I can’t tell what that fruit is.”

“So you made up a fruit? What if she starts calling plums bhhhahhhhhfs?”

He didn’t answer me because he was half-asleep and the last thing we’re worried about is Leta calling a plumb a bhhhahhhhf. We should be worried about Leta telling Grandmommie that she lives “way the fuck out in nowhere,” or answering the phone, “What the fuck do you want, shithead?”

But we’re not. We’re way too tired.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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