Madge, the roving snortling mass of destruction
My daughter Maggie has morphed in the last couple of weeks from a docile, smiling, happy baby who ALWAYS went to bed by 8:00 to a wriggling, angry, screeching whirl of dervish who screams and writhes until well after 8:30. She rummages through her toybox like Attila the Hun, flinging toys over her shoulder in disgust in such rapid succession all you see is a blur of color. If there were a cartoon bubble over her head it would read "Terrible! Hopeless! They are all terrible and hopeless! It's driving me MAD!"
When I try to prepare myself for another day of work in the shark tank, I try to set her in her crib with toys and play some music while I dress in the morning. It used to work. Now, she starts screeching furiously 5 minutes into it. I find her standing up in her crib, her fists clenching the slats of her baby prison, glaring up at me, accusing me. Red cheeked and madder than Hell. Indignant in fact, at the injustice of being contained in a space with no electrical outlets to stick a finger into, no large blunt objects to shimmy off the table, no large fluffs of carpet fuzz to inspect and eat. What the Hell?
If she could give me the finger she would. I am certain of it. That is how pissed off she gets.
She used to love her baby jogger and we would go for happy jogs. She would babble and peek up at me from under the canopy and smile. Now she takes her bottle of water-juice and THROWS it in a fit of baby-rage over the side. With Gusto. It's like she is saying "That, MOFO, is what I think of your stinking apple juice and this pathetic excuse for a stroller. No I will say this once and only once. Bring me back to Daddy IMMEDIATELY!!! I said NOW LADY! MOVE IT LARD ASS!!!!"
When I try to prepare myself for another day of work in the shark tank, I try to set her in her crib with toys and play some music while I dress in the morning. It used to work. Now, she starts screeching furiously 5 minutes into it. I find her standing up in her crib, her fists clenching the slats of her baby prison, glaring up at me, accusing me. Red cheeked and madder than Hell. Indignant in fact, at the injustice of being contained in a space with no electrical outlets to stick a finger into, no large blunt objects to shimmy off the table, no large fluffs of carpet fuzz to inspect and eat. What the Hell?
If she could give me the finger she would. I am certain of it. That is how pissed off she gets.
She used to love her baby jogger and we would go for happy jogs. She would babble and peek up at me from under the canopy and smile. Now she takes her bottle of water-juice and THROWS it in a fit of baby-rage over the side. With Gusto. It's like she is saying "That, MOFO, is what I think of your stinking apple juice and this pathetic excuse for a stroller. No I will say this once and only once. Bring me back to Daddy IMMEDIATELY!!! I said NOW LADY! MOVE IT LARD ASS!!!!"
1 Comments:
Well, Madge is an assertive woman. We love this.
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