Leta is sick with a cough and a runny nose and a loss of will to do anything but sit and stare into space. How such a little body could produce so much mucus is as confounding as what differential equations have to do with regular life (TWO SEMESTERS OF MY LIFE WASTED), so we thought about investing in a Keeper Cup (thanks, Fran) to catch the drip from her nose instead of using tissue and wasting our planet’s natural resources. Jon and I, we’re always thinking.
She’s not eating much which is a little troubling but at the same time a small, itty bitty relief. We’re transitioning her from formula to whole milk, and have you ever smelled dried whole milk? I’d venture to say that it smells worse than the crotch of a cab driver, but formula is 500 times more expensive than milk. Thus, economics gives us no choice. WARNING: ALL CAPS RANT TO FOLLOW. WE HAVE TO SAVE UP FOR THAT GPS PLUGIN FOR THE LAPTOP THAT WE WILL NEVER USE BUT LOOK, A GPS PLUGIN FOR THE LAPTOP, HOW COOL IS THAT, HUH? HUH?
OH YEAH? WHAT ABOUT THAT SNOW BLOWER WE BOUGHT LAST OCTOBER THAT WE HAVE NEVER USED? WE REALLY NEEDED THAT, TOO, DIDN’T WE. DIDN’T WE?
Jon says that I’m just too sensitive to the smell of things (this coming from someone who has never been pregnant, who will never be pregnant and be able to smell the feet of the neighbors two blocks over). He said that I have smell-aversion, or even better, Smellavision.
Dooce, brought to you in technicolor Smellavision. This will perhaps be my next masthead, and the tagline underneath it will read, “Without any of that Painful Rectalage,” because last night Jon was describing something as being as painful as a rectal itch, but I kept hearing rectalage, and now I have a new favorite word.