I know, I've been absent from this blog lately. But hey! I've been busy as a little bee, and my wheels haven't stopped turning in months as I plot and plan and waaaaaaaaait to figure out my next steps for work, childcare, et cetera. I turned thirty-one last month. I made an appointment to get my hair cut. I left my dome light on for an entire weekend and had to buy a new battery. I've made some delicious meals thanks to a new wave of library cookbooks (which I promise to share someday) and I've made commitments and promises all over the place, as usual. Bird is sleeping in a Big Girl Bed by herself (for the most part), and yesterday she looked A. right in the face and said "Dreams come true."
Really. It just doesn't get any better, even with all the madness.
Yesterday, while putting my makeup on in the kitchen mirror (better light, long story), I turned around to find Bird smearing chapstick under her arms like deodorant.
Later that morning she actually got her hands on Andy's OldSpice Red Zone or whatever, and swiped that all over her chest and arms as well.
When I dropped her off at daycare, she still smelled suspiciously masculine.
Today I was putting on makeup sitting on the floor of Bird's room (long story, again), and I looked over to find her smearing blush on her face. She had the right idea, but she looked like a little geisha and she screamed like a tiny, rabid monkey when I wrestled it off of her face with a baby wipe.
From these stories, you might think I actually wear enough makeup to know something about it, but you would be wrong. Any time I've worn it, it's ended up in the wrong place facially in some way-- mascara under the eyes or lipstick on my teeth or weird swipe of something on the side of my head. And yesterday in preparation for a patient visit, I thought it would be nice to finish off my grown-up costume by wearing some actual foundation, which has not happened since I don't even know when. I keep that in the spice cabinet, if you were wondering, and no I am not making that up. And I managed to get splotches of it all up and down the arm of my nice meet-and-greet summer sweater. The only clean and presentable upper-body clothing available, I might add. I was just never cut out to be a functioning adult, I suppose.
Your Reward for getting this far in the post:
Here's a video of my Bird singing a song a couple of weeks ago. (21 months)