neuroticgirl's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- public pooping and other stuff That last entry sucked. Did I mention that I quit drinking pepsi? Yep, quit cold turkey. No caffeine what-so-ever. At least until the withdrawl headaches went away. But I can not do without my weekend frappaccinos. Mocha caramel icy goodness. mmmmmm. So I'm all excited about this mornings trip to obtain my cold caffeinated caramelized booty. I was wholly unprepared for how my body would react to the jolt. I'm a hand talker anyway. Once David and Josh (why do I still call these people friends?) tackled me and tied my hands behind my back just to see if I could talk without them. I couldn't. I mean I could but instead of waving my hands around I used my head. So there I was all tied up with my head bobbing all over the place, trying to talk them into untying me. Anyway, I talk with my hands. So I'm at a little league game and I don't usually sit down anyway because our team parents are easily excited and we jump around and cheer a lot. Anyway, I COULD NOT sit down. And my hands were flying all over the place while I spoke. When the game was over I cursed the gods of hand control and thanked the ones responsible for me not knocking out some poor little league player and getting sued. I still don't think all the caffeine has worn off. Also. Oh fuck. I forgot what else I wanted to write about. Oh. Tyler. He's a good baby and all but he's got issues. He's definitely my child. He's like a little tiny OCD baby. If I cradle him in my left arm he squirms and acts pretty put off. Hold him in my right arm and he nods right off. And he has potty issues. Like he thinks that in order to perform his daily duties he must be eating. It's like in order for his digestive system to give up the goods it must be receiving gifts as well. All I can picture is him at age 8 carrying a pork chop with him to the john. Oh, AND he's a public pooper. It never fails, someone will be leaning down oohing and ahhing over him and there he goes. He's straining and turning red and passing the loudest gas you could possibly imagine coming from such a tiny little baby butt. Which really isn't a big deal because you know, he can't help it. But what what fuck are you supposed to say to some little 80 year old woman who has just looked you in the eye and said "oh look, he's going poop." Not exactly a good conversation starter. 3:45 p.m. - 05.04.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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