leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The joy of morning outings I feel sorry for DarlingDear. I do. I know he's currently neglected, and tired, and seriously affection-starved, and worst of all...a man. I know. I get it. But I still want to kick him in the shin. Don't look at me like that...you would too. At least you would if you were me, and you were both trying to leave the house, and he was as completely useless as he is. We were both getting ready to leave. He was dropping me off at work so he could keep the car to run errands with SmooshyFace (aka the baby). I still needed to finish getting dressed, clean and pack my breastpump, and put the ice pack thingies in the "Transporter" (the cool name I gave it so I would sound like a spy, and not like some girl that must carry around her breast-milk in little jars in a soft insulated lunch-pail). Because he was taking Smooshy, he needed to pack the diaper bag (standard stuff - most of which was already in there.) All he needed to do was throw in some diapers and burp cloths. So it starts with me running around half dressed and him way more ready than me. Smooshy was sitting in his bouncer, but had started to cry meaning one of us needed to get him. I say "Can you get the baby?" and proceed to wash my pump parts while pulling on my pants and combing my hair. Honey says "sure". I look up five minutes later and notice him standing in front of the tv with the baby in his arms. I ask "Bag ready to go?". He says "No." I ask "Why not?", and the boy has the nerve to say "You told me to hold the baby." At this point I struggle to keep breathing. "What...you can't do two things at once?" I ask, hoping my tone sounds jovial and not homicidal. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and am relieved that he is getting a move on and packing the bag. I hear crying and look fully to my right only to see Smooshy plopped right back in his chair. "Fine...I won't yell at him" I think to myself, scooping up the baby, walking back into the kitchen to finish packing my pump and the transporter while using my collarbone to prop the baby's pacifier in his mouth. Five seconds later DarlingDear shouts "Where are the diapers?" "Idiot" I mumble under my breath. I peek around the corner at him and realize he's staring directly at the correct shelf and so I hollar (sweetly - I swear) "they're right on the shelf where you're looking, but all the way to the back." I carry the baby, the pump bag, the transporter, and my purse out of the kitchen into the living room. He appears around the corner and says "They aren't there." I hand him Smooshy, walk to the linen closet, and proceed to pull them from the place I just told him they were. He follows and watches me. When they appear (as if by magic you know) he says "Well sure, you didn't tell me they were all the way back there." I roll my eyes. I breathe deeply and walk to the couch. Not happy about the eye-roll, he mutters something which includes the words "hiding things", prompting me to scream "That's the exact place we've been keeping them since he was born." We finally made it into the car where there was further discussion regarding me trying to hand him an envelope from the back seat, and his inability to stretch his stupid, long-ass, gorilla arms an extra two inches, but I'll spare all of you the pain. I swear, if he hadn't helped me make such a pretty baby, and if I wasn't pretty sure that I want at least one more, I'd probably hit him with the car. 10:04 a.m. - November 16, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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