I have to say, we did the whole Black Friday thing today and it was mildly disappointing. There was not as much stuff on sale this year, IMO. Or at least "small ticket" items. Sure, there were a shit ton of HD tv's, but we're not in the market for that currently.
I got a few gifts today, but I got called into work and am now tired as hell.
Blah.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A day to give thanks and to reflect
I'm a huge fan of 2 blogs in particular. The woman who write them are so talented and creative and make me laugh my ass off. And I'll admit, they've turned me to on a few other blogs, which is cool.
The first blog I really started following was Gwendomama. I can't even remember how I learned of her blog, but I was immediately hooked with her talk of a lavender sugar and cupcakes. I'm always a sucker for fancy recipes that make me a genius to Gumby, heh. (and we wonder why he went for a 32" waist when we started dating to his current 40").
Then I learned of Elijah. Gwendomama is very open about Elijah and losing him. And I have literally sobbed through her posts. Then one day, she made reference to Tanis, The Redneck Mommy.
And Tanis, loves to speak of her breasts, evil tricks she plays on her children and her life as a redneck. I think she's my long lost sister. heh.
But Tanis also has experienced horrific loss, of Bug, her son. And sweet fuck, did I sob reading her story. I was hysterical one night (which probably is not a natural reaction and probably another reason I'm in therapy, but that's another post for another day).
So one might ask, "What the fuck is your obsession with reading depressing (albeit funny) blogs about people's kids dying?
I can't actually answer that specifically, 'cause I'm not really sure myself.
What I do know is that nine years ago today, I learned Gumby and I were going to be parents.
I remember it clear as day. I have inexplicably quit my job of almost 5 years a few weeks earlier. So no benefits, that's always smart, right?!?
I remember being in the powder room at Gumby's folks, washing my hands and looking in the mirror. I was wearing these awesome mustard colored pants and a similar colored sweater. And I as I washed my hands, I was looking at myself, lamenting that I must have gained some weight, because DAMN, that sweater was tight around my boobs and hadn't been when I bought it a few weeks earlier.
*lightbulb starts to flicker above my head*
What the fuck? Why the hell would my boobs be bigger?
Er. Um.
When WAS my last period.
*lightbulb is now burning bright*
Oh shit.
The next day, I was off and Gumby had to work. As he was in the shower, I ran across the street to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test. He left for work and I anxiously peed on a stick.
I might as well not have, I think I could have just waved it at me, I was so fucking pregnant. The damn thing glowed happily at me.
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?
Gumby got home that night and I said we needed to talk.
"So....have you noticed my boobs are bigger?"
'cause it was kinda hard to miss, since I'm normally a DD and had to have been pushing DDDD.
"You're pregnant?"
"Yep."
To which there was much discussion over what would happen next. Because I was working for a temp agency (fucking hormones) and we were still living in the world's smallest one bedroom apartment on the Eastside (our rent was a whopping $395 at the time).
Abortion was brought up. And I knew it was not something I wanted to do. But I also saw the fear in Gumby's eyes and wasn't sure I was strong enough to do the kid thing on my own if he decided to run (which, was a very valid fear...sorry babe).
Gumby's folks left the next day for a month long trip to Hawaii and to sail on the brother-in-laws Naval ship back from Hawaii (trust me, it was the trip of a lifetime, but they would have had to have flown me off the damn ship. I could barely handle the 3 day trip we did 2 years later).
A few days later I told my Mom. To which she asked what our plan was and I still really didn't know. A few days later, I knew I couldn't have an abortion. I knew I wanted to be a Mommy too much and I would make it work if Gumby and I didn't work out. It was a Divine plan of some sort in my mind.
So again, Gumby came home and I told he we needed to talk. I would not be having an abortion. I will fight for a person's right to have that ability, but it wasn't the right choice for me, I was keeping the baby.
"So we need to get married then." That was his response.
Because he's romantic and thoughtful that way.
"I'm not marrying you just because I'm pregnant. If you didn't want to marry me BEFORE I was pregnant, why the fuck would I marry you now?"
"Because if I don't marry you, my Dad is going to kill me when they get back. Or they're going to make us get married. And then I'll just say, 'Told ya so.'"
Which is why, 9 years later, we laugh when he says, "Told ya so."
Stubborn mule I am, I refused. The next day I start to find out about getting medical insurance.
Huh. Apparently if you're ALREADY pregnant, you can't buy insurance. And I couldn't afford the almost $400 a month COBRA would cost from my previous job.
And then I started calling about daycare costs. And I certainly could not afford daycare earning $12.50 an hour.
That night I felt a little weird, so I called Labor & Delivery. I knew the resident on call and she said she'd do a quick scan. I went in and she couldn't find much (since we didn't know how far along I was).
So the next day, I called my OB. She sent me for another ultrasound. It was there we saw the baby and heartbeat. And I was over the moon. But I was only a little over 5 weeks along by that ultrasound.
I should have known something was up, but I chalked it up to the fact that every fetus develops differently and ultrasound is not accurate, especially at that point in pregnancy.
A few days later, I knew I had to marry Gumby if we were going to have this child. So I agreed.
My parents and Grandparents had the same anniversary, December 22nd. I thought it would be nice if we got married on the same day, so we set it in motion.
Gumby's folks were still gone and not reachable, so we went to visit the next best thing, Mary, who is my mother-in-law's best friend.
We explained what was going on and our plan to marry on 12/22. The in-laws would not be back until 12/23. Mary knew my in-laws would be heartbroken if they missed it. So after much struggle (selfishly on my part, I admit) I agreed to change the date to 12/29.
On December 17th, Gumby and I were babysitting for some friends. Their little girl was so sweet and I was so happy to be there. And I felt, weird. I couldn't place my finger on it, but I just wasn't feeling right.
After the child went to bed, I went to the bathroom. And I was spotting. Not heavily, but it was still there.
It put me in a funk and I just blurted it to Gumby, rather rudely, when I got out of the bathroom. For whatever reason, the baby woke up, so I held her tightly for a long time, rocking her and singing to her.
The next day, Saturday, I started cramping. I called my OB. She prescribed progesterone and immediate bedrest for one day. If the pregnancy was going to stick, it would get better that day and not be an issue the next and I should resume regular activity the next day.
The progesterone did stop the cramping on Saturday, but it was there again on Sunday. We had tickets to the Admirals in the box, so hell yeah, I wanted to go and I knew there was no stopping what was going to happen.
Of we went to the game. An hour into it I went to the bathroom and was now bleeding heavily.
"Time to go." I said to Gumby when I got out.
He flew into action and had us out of the Bradley Center in short order.
"Do we go to the hospital?" He asked.
"No, just go home."
I went to the bathroom again at home and when I wiped, I felt something. And I knew.
My shoulders slumped and I slowly looked at my "prize" from wiping.
And on the toilet paper was my baby.
Oh, how I cried and sobbed. Gumby flew into the bathroom to check on me and saw the icky glob I was crying over. Poor guy isn't good with blood and it was all he could do not to vomit. He quickly closed the door and asked (from the other side, heh) if he could do anything.
There was not.
We did get married on December 29th. And I have struggled for a very long time to deal with that miscarriage (and the 2 that happened years later when we were actually trying to have a baby).
So maybe that's why I read those blogs. Maybe its because I know how hard my losses were, but these woman have survived the deaths of their children that they already had. Mine were still just the hopes of what were to come.
So today is the anniversary of how we ended up married. Long fucking story to get to that, eh?
But now I have 2 beautiful babies. And they are healthy and full of laughter. And nothing else makes me happier in this world (again, sorry babe...I love you, but you are not nearly as endearing when you pass gas...they make it look goooood. ;)
The first blog I really started following was Gwendomama. I can't even remember how I learned of her blog, but I was immediately hooked with her talk of a lavender sugar and cupcakes. I'm always a sucker for fancy recipes that make me a genius to Gumby, heh. (and we wonder why he went for a 32" waist when we started dating to his current 40").
Then I learned of Elijah. Gwendomama is very open about Elijah and losing him. And I have literally sobbed through her posts. Then one day, she made reference to Tanis, The Redneck Mommy.
And Tanis, loves to speak of her breasts, evil tricks she plays on her children and her life as a redneck. I think she's my long lost sister. heh.
But Tanis also has experienced horrific loss, of Bug, her son. And sweet fuck, did I sob reading her story. I was hysterical one night (which probably is not a natural reaction and probably another reason I'm in therapy, but that's another post for another day).
So one might ask, "What the fuck is your obsession with reading depressing (albeit funny) blogs about people's kids dying?
I can't actually answer that specifically, 'cause I'm not really sure myself.
What I do know is that nine years ago today, I learned Gumby and I were going to be parents.
I remember it clear as day. I have inexplicably quit my job of almost 5 years a few weeks earlier. So no benefits, that's always smart, right?!?
I remember being in the powder room at Gumby's folks, washing my hands and looking in the mirror. I was wearing these awesome mustard colored pants and a similar colored sweater. And I as I washed my hands, I was looking at myself, lamenting that I must have gained some weight, because DAMN, that sweater was tight around my boobs and hadn't been when I bought it a few weeks earlier.
*lightbulb starts to flicker above my head*
What the fuck? Why the hell would my boobs be bigger?
Er. Um.
When WAS my last period.
*lightbulb is now burning bright*
Oh shit.
The next day, I was off and Gumby had to work. As he was in the shower, I ran across the street to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test. He left for work and I anxiously peed on a stick.
I might as well not have, I think I could have just waved it at me, I was so fucking pregnant. The damn thing glowed happily at me.
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?
Gumby got home that night and I said we needed to talk.
"So....have you noticed my boobs are bigger?"
'cause it was kinda hard to miss, since I'm normally a DD and had to have been pushing DDDD.
"You're pregnant?"
"Yep."
To which there was much discussion over what would happen next. Because I was working for a temp agency (fucking hormones) and we were still living in the world's smallest one bedroom apartment on the Eastside (our rent was a whopping $395 at the time).
Abortion was brought up. And I knew it was not something I wanted to do. But I also saw the fear in Gumby's eyes and wasn't sure I was strong enough to do the kid thing on my own if he decided to run (which, was a very valid fear...sorry babe).
Gumby's folks left the next day for a month long trip to Hawaii and to sail on the brother-in-laws Naval ship back from Hawaii (trust me, it was the trip of a lifetime, but they would have had to have flown me off the damn ship. I could barely handle the 3 day trip we did 2 years later).
A few days later I told my Mom. To which she asked what our plan was and I still really didn't know. A few days later, I knew I couldn't have an abortion. I knew I wanted to be a Mommy too much and I would make it work if Gumby and I didn't work out. It was a Divine plan of some sort in my mind.
So again, Gumby came home and I told he we needed to talk. I would not be having an abortion. I will fight for a person's right to have that ability, but it wasn't the right choice for me, I was keeping the baby.
"So we need to get married then." That was his response.
Because he's romantic and thoughtful that way.
"I'm not marrying you just because I'm pregnant. If you didn't want to marry me BEFORE I was pregnant, why the fuck would I marry you now?"
"Because if I don't marry you, my Dad is going to kill me when they get back. Or they're going to make us get married. And then I'll just say, 'Told ya so.'"
Which is why, 9 years later, we laugh when he says, "Told ya so."
Stubborn mule I am, I refused. The next day I start to find out about getting medical insurance.
Huh. Apparently if you're ALREADY pregnant, you can't buy insurance. And I couldn't afford the almost $400 a month COBRA would cost from my previous job.
And then I started calling about daycare costs. And I certainly could not afford daycare earning $12.50 an hour.
That night I felt a little weird, so I called Labor & Delivery. I knew the resident on call and she said she'd do a quick scan. I went in and she couldn't find much (since we didn't know how far along I was).
So the next day, I called my OB. She sent me for another ultrasound. It was there we saw the baby and heartbeat. And I was over the moon. But I was only a little over 5 weeks along by that ultrasound.
I should have known something was up, but I chalked it up to the fact that every fetus develops differently and ultrasound is not accurate, especially at that point in pregnancy.
A few days later, I knew I had to marry Gumby if we were going to have this child. So I agreed.
My parents and Grandparents had the same anniversary, December 22nd. I thought it would be nice if we got married on the same day, so we set it in motion.
Gumby's folks were still gone and not reachable, so we went to visit the next best thing, Mary, who is my mother-in-law's best friend.
We explained what was going on and our plan to marry on 12/22. The in-laws would not be back until 12/23. Mary knew my in-laws would be heartbroken if they missed it. So after much struggle (selfishly on my part, I admit) I agreed to change the date to 12/29.
On December 17th, Gumby and I were babysitting for some friends. Their little girl was so sweet and I was so happy to be there. And I felt, weird. I couldn't place my finger on it, but I just wasn't feeling right.
After the child went to bed, I went to the bathroom. And I was spotting. Not heavily, but it was still there.
It put me in a funk and I just blurted it to Gumby, rather rudely, when I got out of the bathroom. For whatever reason, the baby woke up, so I held her tightly for a long time, rocking her and singing to her.
The next day, Saturday, I started cramping. I called my OB. She prescribed progesterone and immediate bedrest for one day. If the pregnancy was going to stick, it would get better that day and not be an issue the next and I should resume regular activity the next day.
The progesterone did stop the cramping on Saturday, but it was there again on Sunday. We had tickets to the Admirals in the box, so hell yeah, I wanted to go and I knew there was no stopping what was going to happen.
Of we went to the game. An hour into it I went to the bathroom and was now bleeding heavily.
"Time to go." I said to Gumby when I got out.
He flew into action and had us out of the Bradley Center in short order.
"Do we go to the hospital?" He asked.
"No, just go home."
I went to the bathroom again at home and when I wiped, I felt something. And I knew.
My shoulders slumped and I slowly looked at my "prize" from wiping.
And on the toilet paper was my baby.
Oh, how I cried and sobbed. Gumby flew into the bathroom to check on me and saw the icky glob I was crying over. Poor guy isn't good with blood and it was all he could do not to vomit. He quickly closed the door and asked (from the other side, heh) if he could do anything.
There was not.
We did get married on December 29th. And I have struggled for a very long time to deal with that miscarriage (and the 2 that happened years later when we were actually trying to have a baby).
So maybe that's why I read those blogs. Maybe its because I know how hard my losses were, but these woman have survived the deaths of their children that they already had. Mine were still just the hopes of what were to come.
So today is the anniversary of how we ended up married. Long fucking story to get to that, eh?
But now I have 2 beautiful babies. And they are healthy and full of laughter. And nothing else makes me happier in this world (again, sorry babe...I love you, but you are not nearly as endearing when you pass gas...they make it look goooood. ;)
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
A sense of accomplishment.
So we moved into this place almost 6 months ago. It was the fucking move from hell as our old landlord offered us extra $$$ to leave early, but our new landlord would not budge on letting us in early. So we ultimately lived at the in-laws for a week and all our shit was in storage.
And I shit you not, Little Man turned 3 the day after we moved in and I traveled the next day for a week.
Never again people.
All our shit has been thrown into the basement with little concern for where it landed as long as there was a path to the laundry area, the computer and the litter box.
'Cause we have priorities, if nothing else in this house. Heh.
But it's been pissing me the fuck off. Because more and more shit gets thrown down there and then the in-laws had the gall to ask us to take some of our shit back. I mean come on, they couldn't store all our china and our bicycles for a few years?!? (I jest...sort of)
And it's become a battle. The bicycles came home about a month and a half ago. And I made Gumby buy bike hooks that night, so the bikes could be hung from the rafters, because damn it, we don't need more shit on the floor down there.
And I've been asking weekly since for him to put up the damn hooks. And it finally came to a battle last night about it. 'Cause like I said, I was cranky as fuck yesterday.
But alas, the bikes are finally hung tonight.
And we threw out a shit ton of boxes from the basement (the landlord is probably thinking, "Oh shit...they've decided to stay.") And the front of our house looks like our basement threw up.
But.
Guess.
What.
There is progress in the basement. I've managed to get all the Christmas stuff on the same side of the basement (cue angels singing). The china has been stored where it is least likely to get damaged.
I'm thinking I'll have it done this weekend. 'Cause the tree is going up this weekend. My sister asked if we could put it up and I agreed, much to Gumby's irritation.
I'm roasting a turkey tomorrow for Thanksgiving and making a cherry pie. Then for our dinner, I have a pork shoulder roast marinating in the fridge for a beauitful pulled bbq pork tomorrow.
I'm looking forward to it.
And with that, I'm off to veg out in front of the tv.
And I shit you not, Little Man turned 3 the day after we moved in and I traveled the next day for a week.
Never again people.
All our shit has been thrown into the basement with little concern for where it landed as long as there was a path to the laundry area, the computer and the litter box.
'Cause we have priorities, if nothing else in this house. Heh.
But it's been pissing me the fuck off. Because more and more shit gets thrown down there and then the in-laws had the gall to ask us to take some of our shit back. I mean come on, they couldn't store all our china and our bicycles for a few years?!? (I jest...sort of)
And it's become a battle. The bicycles came home about a month and a half ago. And I made Gumby buy bike hooks that night, so the bikes could be hung from the rafters, because damn it, we don't need more shit on the floor down there.
And I've been asking weekly since for him to put up the damn hooks. And it finally came to a battle last night about it. 'Cause like I said, I was cranky as fuck yesterday.
But alas, the bikes are finally hung tonight.
And we threw out a shit ton of boxes from the basement (the landlord is probably thinking, "Oh shit...they've decided to stay.") And the front of our house looks like our basement threw up.
But.
Guess.
What.
There is progress in the basement. I've managed to get all the Christmas stuff on the same side of the basement (cue angels singing). The china has been stored where it is least likely to get damaged.
I'm thinking I'll have it done this weekend. 'Cause the tree is going up this weekend. My sister asked if we could put it up and I agreed, much to Gumby's irritation.
I'm roasting a turkey tomorrow for Thanksgiving and making a cherry pie. Then for our dinner, I have a pork shoulder roast marinating in the fridge for a beauitful pulled bbq pork tomorrow.
I'm looking forward to it.
And with that, I'm off to veg out in front of the tv.
Weird Ass Monday
So I totally went to bed late. Much later than I should have. But Baby Girl has an ear infection and was still running a fever, so I knew she'd be home and Little Man would obviously be home. So, you know...gives me mild permission to stay up late.
Fast forward to 6:30 AM, a few short hours later and Gumby's alarm was blaring. I managed to ignore it by elbowing him in the ribs to turn it off.
Around 8 AM my phone goes off and I look at it bleary-eyed and see it's my folks.
"Hello?" (drool running down chin)
It's my Mom. My Aunt (her sister) died this morning. She was diagnosed 7 days ago with the same cancer my Grandma died from 5 years ago (Grandma was 70, my Aunt was pushing 50, but not there yet).
"Are you fucking kidding me?" (more drool down chin)
Yeah, so very bizarre. Very concerning for the rest of us females in the family.
I feel awful for her son, my cousin. He is only 18 and very ill-prepared for this. I hope he finds the strength he needs in the future.
I've been cranky most of the day. Did not help that there was snow on the ground when I got up. But the kids went out to play for a while (I cheated and sat on my kitchen chair, watching them through the patio doors, occasionally opening it to shout out the obligatory, "Don't eat the snow from the grass!" or "Don't kick your sister!")
'Cause I'm a good Mom like that.
But it's been a very weird day.
Fast forward to 6:30 AM, a few short hours later and Gumby's alarm was blaring. I managed to ignore it by elbowing him in the ribs to turn it off.
Around 8 AM my phone goes off and I look at it bleary-eyed and see it's my folks.
"Hello?" (drool running down chin)
It's my Mom. My Aunt (her sister) died this morning. She was diagnosed 7 days ago with the same cancer my Grandma died from 5 years ago (Grandma was 70, my Aunt was pushing 50, but not there yet).
"Are you fucking kidding me?" (more drool down chin)
Yeah, so very bizarre. Very concerning for the rest of us females in the family.
I feel awful for her son, my cousin. He is only 18 and very ill-prepared for this. I hope he finds the strength he needs in the future.
I've been cranky most of the day. Did not help that there was snow on the ground when I got up. But the kids went out to play for a while (I cheated and sat on my kitchen chair, watching them through the patio doors, occasionally opening it to shout out the obligatory, "Don't eat the snow from the grass!" or "Don't kick your sister!")
'Cause I'm a good Mom like that.
But it's been a very weird day.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Little Man is Going Commando
Little Man had to "go to the bathroom" during dinner.
Which is code for, "I don't want to eat this shit you pulled together that manages to involve all of the food groups, but is not at all what a 3 year wants to eat."
Ungrateful little fucker.
So I listen to Little Man goof off in the bathroom (including falling off the toilet for a second time). Finally I go in and he's standing there, picking his nose. Fantastic.
Dude, get out of the bathroom.
"NOOOOO...I have to go potty Mumma!"
Uggg.
A bit later he wanders out, pants in hand and insists I help put his pants on.
*sigh*
Put your pants on son.
He finally gets his pants on and asks me to button them (understandable in those pants, they are snug in the waist). I start to button and don't feel those Wall-E underpants he had on earlier.
"Dude, where are your underwear?"
"Dunno. Maybe the kitchen floor?"
"Go get your underpants kid."
He comes back with his underpants, pulls off his jeans and promptly gets distracted by a book. So now he's sitting sans any pants, reading a book on my living room carpet.
Let's just hope he wiped well when he was done, shall we?
Which is code for, "I don't want to eat this shit you pulled together that manages to involve all of the food groups, but is not at all what a 3 year wants to eat."
Ungrateful little fucker.
So I listen to Little Man goof off in the bathroom (including falling off the toilet for a second time). Finally I go in and he's standing there, picking his nose. Fantastic.
Dude, get out of the bathroom.
"NOOOOO...I have to go potty Mumma!"
Uggg.
A bit later he wanders out, pants in hand and insists I help put his pants on.
*sigh*
Put your pants on son.
He finally gets his pants on and asks me to button them (understandable in those pants, they are snug in the waist). I start to button and don't feel those Wall-E underpants he had on earlier.
"Dude, where are your underwear?"
"Dunno. Maybe the kitchen floor?"
"Go get your underpants kid."
He comes back with his underpants, pulls off his jeans and promptly gets distracted by a book. So now he's sitting sans any pants, reading a book on my living room carpet.
Let's just hope he wiped well when he was done, shall we?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Things I like
- Snuggling on the couch
- Top Gear. Seriously. I almost pissed myself laughing while watching last night.
- Honey Roasted peanut butter. This is a new thing, I bought it on a whim and can't keep my finger out of the damn jar now.
- Hope Floats. Damn movie makes me cry every time. And Harry Connick Jr could not be hotter.
- Dave Matthews. I love most everything Dave. But this is an absolute favorite (again, I sob like a baby) with this being a very close second.
- Tricky Fingers. If you don't know what it is, you should. That's some fun shit.
- Rock Band and Rock Band 2. Good times.
- Kate Spade bags. I wish I could afford more.
- KitchenAid. It's an addiction. A good addiction.
- Our camper. it's freakin' awesome.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Was it wrong...
When I was either a freshman or sophomore in high school, I was asked to work in the "special needs" classroom, specifically the technology room. Which, back in the early '90's meant a typing class.
I was assigned to a male student, I don't remember exactly what his disability was, but I want to say it was cerebral palsy. We got along well; he couldn't speak well, but I noticed he stared at my breasts a lot.
Then one day, he got very excited and he flung his hand at them. He didn't have much control, so his hand just hit my breast, but didn't linger. I didn't make a deal about it because, well, let's be honest, I was 15 or 16 and really inexperienced and didn't know if it was on purpose or an accident.
Except it continued to happen for the rest of the semester.
I never made an issue of it and I never really discussed it. I think in my feeble teenage mind, I was letting him do something he otherwise wouldn't be able to do and I justified it as I wasn't doing anything MORE with him. Ahem.
So that raises the question, was that the right thing to do? Now as a parent, I would be upset if someone did that to Baby Girl (or even Little Man). Not sure why this suddenly came back to my memory, but, hell, I don't know why half the stuff in my brain is there.
I was assigned to a male student, I don't remember exactly what his disability was, but I want to say it was cerebral palsy. We got along well; he couldn't speak well, but I noticed he stared at my breasts a lot.
Then one day, he got very excited and he flung his hand at them. He didn't have much control, so his hand just hit my breast, but didn't linger. I didn't make a deal about it because, well, let's be honest, I was 15 or 16 and really inexperienced and didn't know if it was on purpose or an accident.
Except it continued to happen for the rest of the semester.
I never made an issue of it and I never really discussed it. I think in my feeble teenage mind, I was letting him do something he otherwise wouldn't be able to do and I justified it as I wasn't doing anything MORE with him. Ahem.
So that raises the question, was that the right thing to do? Now as a parent, I would be upset if someone did that to Baby Girl (or even Little Man). Not sure why this suddenly came back to my memory, but, hell, I don't know why half the stuff in my brain is there.
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