Admit it. You knew this was coming. A post about teething. "But, Olivia! You hate cliches!" Yeah. I fucking know. But teething is some serious bullshit.
I could spend the next three paragraphs whining about how tired I am, but instead I will write about the wonders of whiskey and frozen waffles. I have a tiny airplane bottle of Jameson I use to rub on Hamburglar's gums on occasion, when it seems like that stubborn little tooth is particularly troublesome (none of that cheap whiskey for us!) and a friend suggested letting him gnaw on frozen waffles and OH MY GOD IT IS AMAZING. Plus, once he's done crumbling up the waffle and throwing it on the floor, the dogs come and eat it, so clean up is simple.
He's been very interested in people food for a couple of months now, so we've been letting him taste things. Most recently, I gave him a bit of banana. He loved it. And Mr. Adventure gave him some chili a week or two ago. I was at work. He said Chubs liked it, though. It's fun watching him try new foods. He takes it in his mouth and gets this contemplative look on his face, then he typically smiles, as if to say, "I like that." But he tries to eat all food like it's milk. He was sucking on the side of the banana, then started sucking on the peel.
I ran into a coworker who lives in my neighborhood yesterday. She asked me how the baby is and I proceeded to show her pictures on my phone until she got a panicked look in her eyes and made an excuse to escape. You may have won this round, polite coworker, but I will see you again!
Also, Fatty and I went to the grocery store yesterday, and all the crazies were out. There were these two large fellows throwing around giant ground pork sausages in the meat section (and, no, that's not a euphemism for anything) and there was some crazy old lady by the cheese, coughing, and saying, "wait until you get bronchitis," and I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or the cheese or herself... and she kept trying to talk to me and then she took a step toward me with her hand stretched out in front of her and said, "Can I offer you a piece of advice?" I said no thank you and walked away. It was really weird. Mr. Adventure was more concerned about it than I was, though. He text me, asking me if I'd called the grocery store to complain and encouraged me to take a shower and give the baby a bath. And I did. But, as we all know, nothing good comes from showering before feeding a baby.
Within an hour of getting out of the shower (I even washed my hair. An activity typically reserved for weekends), I was feeding my tiny man and getting him ready for bed and he spit up all over me. Not once, but twice. All over my nightgown and my hair. And he looked so happy about it, so I laughed, and that got him laughing... I rinsed my hair in the sink, but I'm pretty sure there is still baby vomit in it. And I don't care. Is that the mark of motherhood?
Also, holy balls I need some sleep. Mr. Adventure's birthday was yesterday and we are having a cocktail/game night on Saturday. I found this amazingly weird serial killer trivia board game thing and I borrowed Cards Against Humanity from a coworker. I've got beer, a box of wine, a bottle of gin and a bottle of whiskey. Magic will happen.
Oh, and I started a group fitness class. It is an hour long on Saturdays. Last Saturday was my first class and my legs just stopped hurting yesterday.
That is all.