the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Baby bird

Last night as I was changing Marlo into her pajamas I found a half-chewed piece of graham cracker, a swath of dried applesauce and two Cheerios tucked right inside the lip of her diaper. And no, I certainly did not experience an inexplicable urge to shove the crumbs into my mouth to avoid having to walk across the room to the trash can. Not one bit.

I’m glad no one else was in the room.

Marlo is a ravenous eater and has yet to refuse anything we’ve offered her. I’m not taking this as a sign of anything, though, because Leta was exactly the same way until she staged a hunger strike at eighteen months. She doesn’t like us to bring up the fact that she used to eat anything, what she probably remembers as The Dark Years, and now when we ask her to try new things she says sure. When she’s seven. But not until then. Have I mentioned that she writes our legal documents?

Anyway, Marlo crawls around with her mouth open. If she she sees you eating something from across the room she will motor over, up and around obstacles, and climb up your body to get at whatever it is. Once I was slicing a lemon to put in a glass of water, and she sat on the floor and tugged at my leg, her head slung backward, mouth wide open. And I was all, okay then. You asked for it, kid! And then I cackled wildly as I handed her a juicy rind.

And now she has a new favorite treat:

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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