observances

noticing some things
surroundings coming alive
as I open eyes

I won't admit to having a routine yet, but my surroundings are becoming less fuzzy as I acclimate to the lack of sleep.

It took me a week or so, but I noticed that my husband is growing a goatee. His adorableness was increasing day-by-day and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then, last night, while we were talking about bills I showed my propensity to be socially awkward, and to not notice things until waaay late.

HIM: "…and the hospital is going to let us pay a few hundred bucks a month for—–"
ME: "I like your face."
HIM: "Huh?"
ME: "Your face. There's hair on it."
HIM: "Oh, yeah, it's been growing for a week or so. Do you think it's filling in?"
ME: "Like Zorro! I will buy you a mask. Wait. Does Zorro have a goatee?"
HIM: "Can I chase you around?"
ME: "Wearing a Zorro mask? What if he doesn't have a goatee?"
HIM: "Does it matter?"
ME: "What were we talking about again?"

In other news, the wee-er one has discovered "bony." Thanks to the aforementioned hirsute one, there is bologna in the house ("All beef!" it proclaims, so I guess I should stop thinking of it as the landfill of deli meats).

The wee-er one has fallen in love with it. "I want my bony!" she demands. "Where is my bony?" It is reminiscent of the wee one's penchant for calling me Woody when he was around her age. It makes me giggle, which is often unfortunate… like when we're at the pediatrician's office and she asks our doctor if he likes bony, too.

And not to be left out, the wee one stumped me this afternoon when he narrowed his eyes into angry slits and accused me of preventing him from having a molt. "Preventing you from shedding your feathers?" I asked, confused. "Preventing you from losing your scaly skin?"

"No, Mom!" (because he calls me Mom, now) "A molt! A molt! Like Daddy gets!"
This stumped me even more. Does my husband molt? Is molt some first grade street slang for facial hair?
"Like at SONIC, Mom! A molt. A STRAWBERRY MOLT."
Ohhhh. A malt.
"A malt!" I said excitedly. Then I frowned. "Of course you can't have one. I'm not driving anywhere right now."

The fun thing about sleep deprivation is that everything is brought right to the surface. I only mean that partially sarcastically. Everything seems sillier when you're drunk on exhaustion, you know? And it's fun to be silly.

I have to stop writing this now, though, because the wee-er one is eating a dinosaur. It is bony, but not the right kind.

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One thought on “observances

  1. I just have to add, through my laughter, that when I was visiting I overheard the wee one being asked what his dog’s name was.
    “Turkle?” the lady said. “Taco?”
    Then the wee-er one jumped in to the rescue with a resound and clear, “Tucker!”

    Like

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