If you’d like to make a sitcom of my life, I’ll wait for your call

We were leaving the playground.  The wind was so strong it felt like we were inside a Dyson.  Oh wait, that would imply suction.  The wind wasn’t sucking us anywhere, more like making the traffic lights sway vigorously and blowing my hair in my face.  I was holding onto Madeleine with one arm and holding Luke’s hand with the other.  Madeleine started to giggle like crazy as she pulled on my shirt. 

Why wouldn’t my boob pop out?  And of course my nipple followed.

After you’ve had a couple of babies the whole illusion of sexiness is overwith.  How do french women maintain their mystique?  They must be tired.

I wasn’t worried about the nipple.  Anyone who may have been watching, I’m sure, has seen a nipple or two in their lifetime.  I’d hope they’d have seen at least their own two.

I started laughing pretty hard, the kind of laughter that makes you feel like you’re made of jello and you have to plop down on the ground to get through it.  My worry was that I might drop Madeleine in the middle of the street, or that Luke would let go of my hand and dart across the street, as he sometimes does just to keep me on my toes.  If he had, someone else beside the nipple-witness may have chuckled “Hey, there’s a lady outside with her boob out, with a moderately-sized medium pink-colored nipple, chasing her kid across the street and flailing her arms.”  (Just the one arm, really.)

We all got home in one piece.  Yay.  Thank you, Luke, for not further complicating the moment.  For a change.

After my darling husband gave the kids their dinner and I returned from a run (which was no easy feat in that crazy-ass wind), I got into the shower but didn’t close the bathroom door.  Madeleine tip-toed in, holding Michael’s iPhone and began playing Nighty Night.  (My kids love that game and we play it every night before bedtime.  Super-cute.)  She has this adorable habit of chucking random objects in the toilet; her toothbrush, my hairbrush, books, and...please, please, please not Daddy’s iPhone!

“Mad, open that drawer and take out some Q-tips and go show Daddy.  And give him his phone, ok?”

“No.  I playing Ni-Ni game.”

Worth a try.

When I stepped out of the shower I saw that she had dumped every single Q-tip in the value pack onto the bath mat.

Daaaaddddyyyy,”  I called.

Michael came to fetch her and shook his head at her as he carried her out of the bathroom.

“Gimme my damn Q-tips!” Madeleine shouted, now in the next room.

“Excuse me?” Michael said, calmly.

Her intensity had not weakened,   “I see my Q-tips and I want my damn Q-tips, Daddy.  Right now.”

As far as I was concerned, I was off the clock for at least a few minutes.  I grabbed my lotion and hair dryer and stepped into our bedroom, closing the door behind me.

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This entry was published on September 26, 2012 at 4:21 am. It’s filed under Kids and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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