Well, slap my ass and call me Sally. Who knew there were that many people out there reading? I bet like, one or two of you, at most.
I go through phases, where I feel like I’m on my game. I’m funny dammit. And I have a lot to say. You’d think that having a toddler would be good blog fodder. Because they do funny things. Like push you off the toilet so that they can flush and watch it go down. Or jab their fingers in your ear holes because making your ear drums bleed is great fun!
But instead, I find that most of the day goes by in this hazy blur and that I don’t have the mental energy to remember much of anything, let alone try to cohesively blog about it.
I feel as if there’s always something to worry about with being a parent. The Mini is doing well, and I can’t put that aside. But there’s always something else that seems to pop up that leaves me unable to breathe properly. There are days where I think “He’s going to be just fine” and other days, I feel this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and I wonder if I’ll ever look back on this time with anything other than darkness. And that bothers me because I don’t want to look back on this time and feel like it was tainted. Although, I can say truly, that when we started this whole ordeal, he is not even the same child. And I am very grateful for that.
I have to ask though, do “normal” kids eye up their finger and the dog’s butthole and think “hey, that’s a perfect fit!” I’d like to think yes.
No dogs buttholes or children’s fingers were harmed in the making of this post.