It is mandatory for bloggers to commemorate birthdays of their offspring every year and pretend that the entire world has halted. You didn’t know? It’s written somewhere, I don’t know. I’m not a real blogger, so you’ll have to ask one of these ones.
But back to Chooch! Eight years ago today, I was having this 10lb 2oz sack of chunk extracted from a SCARY INCISION THAT STILL HURTS SOMETIMES, OK? It seems like an eternity ago, but I can still remember how excited/anxious/horrified I was like it was yesterday, and the nurse asking me if I had a Living Will, OMG just what I want to think about right before I go in for a stomach filleting. And I think here is where I’m supposed to insert some flowery prose about how hard parenting is, but so worth it. It’s true though. Once I quit wondering when things would get easier and accepted the fact that this parenting job will NEVER get easier, I think I became kind of better at it. (I still fuck up A LOT, though, don’t get it twisted.) Chooch himself has made me so much better in so many ways!
I was the first one out of all of my friends to get pregnant, and I heard a lot of predictions like, “You’re not going to be fun anymore.” And that makes me laugh because I have more fun now than I ever did back then, so thanks Chooch! (I am also not friends anymore with the people who said shit like that to me, because fuck them.)
Here’s Henry sleeping in the hospital room that day, which is probably one of the last times Chooch and I have let him take a nap.
2. Faygo sweatshirt
3. Mr. Mom jeans and shoes
4. Awkward holding of his own hand
And here’s the birthday boy himself, on our walk to school this morning! You guys, he was in the best mood and a total fucking joy to be around for once. I LOVE BIRTHDAY CHOOCH, OMG.
Anyway, I guess we’re going to dinner tomorrow at Olive Garden of all places, because this is what he has requested we do. He’s never been to Olive Garden before and he hates pasta, so…..