Genetic Predisposition To Be The Crazy Cat Lady?

Maybe.

Come On Baby, Make It Hurt So Good...

Tegan, like all babies, lacks empathy for the feelings she causes others.  This is most apparent when expressing her affection...odd, I know. "I love you soooo much, that I need to eye gouge you and bite your cheek simultaneously."  While this sounds like the way the un-dead might spend a romantic evening, this is how my daughter "loves" things. 

Especially the cats.  We have four. They all seem to do a pretty good job of bobbing and weaving to avoid her kung fu grip, but eventually everyone gets caught. Now the old ladies (Meeshka and Mona), are not to be fooled around with, and the sassy white one (whom I am pretty sure would be a gay hairdresser) is a urban cat myth few have seen. So that leaves her with one. Samson.

This cat always seems to be where Tegan is, and always seems to walk where Tegan is playing. He naps in her toys, plays alongside her, and I've even caught him licking her head a time or two. But the most wonderful thing about Samson is his never waning tolerance (and I secretly think delight) for "hugs" from Tegan. He just sits their...or lays there more like, as she crushes is frail little cat body, and squeezes her chubby little arms around his neck. 

So think about this.  I have just compared my child's methods for showing love to zombies, and now I'm telling you that a member of one of the most intolerant high-brow species on the planet enjoys it! It's like the twilight zone, or a Pixar version of Romeo and Juliet, or maybe more like a Paula Abdul music video.  Who knows. you can be the judge. 

All I know, is that the poster of the puppies in the basket hanging in the dentist's office ain't got nothin' on these two:

I Don't Have Anything To Do Today Except...

Feed the animals. Eat breakfast. Start the laundry.  Get Tegan dressed. Prepare breakfast. Empty the dishwasher. Load the dishwasher. Play with Tegan. Sing a song. Practice putting things in and out of a box 34 times. Read two stories. Watch the birds and practice saying bird. Switch the laundry.  Nurse. Rescue the cat from Tegan. Put her shoes and jacket on to go outside (you may think this is not a big deal, but let me assure you, it is). Walk to the stop sign. De-shoe.  Read more stories. Rock her to sleep. Nap.

Okay, so you get the point, and this is just the first TWO HOURS! Don't get me wrong sweet friend who is currently reading this on her lunch break in her cubical Downtown, I am very lucky to stay home with her, and avoid rush hour traffic, annoying bosses and deadlines...or hell, putting on real clothes for that matter. My point is simply that it blows my mind that while on paper I have nothing to do all day, I can't get anything done (except for the giant list of shit posted above).

I thought completing my teaching program with a year off of work would be a cake walk...HA! Once that girl was mobile, it was all over.  Try reading a text book, or typing a paper when you have to keep your child from scaling your shoe rack, or pulling down a bookshelf, or eating a cat turd. It's pretty much impossible. Okay, okay, I've typed myself into a corner here. So how do I have time to write this blog you might ask. Well, I guess I like ranting about not having time more than I like making good use of it. That's enough with the questions.

So when I'm 33 years old and I still don't have a Masters or my teaching certification, this is why.

(Please note her fuzzy accomplice. We'll get to him tomorrow)

  

No, No, Really. She's Different Than Other Babies.

So just like most of you reading this, I too, had very little interest in reading and hearing about all my friends woes and triumphs of child rearing. I hated the Myspace updates about how they picked their nursery bedding, and got the most amazing diaper cake as a shower gift, and the 23 posts a day on potty training, lack of sleep, inability to shower, the color of their child's most recent bowel movement, and so on.

Then I had a child. And then I became that annoying friend that all my un-child-ed friends "hide" or delete out of complete annoyance, or make the obligatory once monthly photo comment of "she's so big!".  The same friend that quickly falls off the frequent calls list and party invites.  I know this. So to show you all that I'm not one of "those moms" I have dug my heals in deep and screamed from the top of my lungs "I am a proud mom, but I swear I'm still cool, and I get tattooed, I was totally at Casey's when that really funny thing happened, and I'll so be at the show next weekend, and....oh, no wait...I have to  stay home and go to bed at 8pm, so I can wake up to feed my child and sing the apples and bananas song 137 times before noon.  Never mind, wrong person all together."

The thing is, I'm okay with it...most of the time.  In my own defense, she's just so fucking adorable (Tegan, if you're 13 now and reading this, remember the "f" word is reserved only for those moments when you really want to make a point, and those points should never be made to your mother).

In all honesty, this blog will likely be more of that same material from the same trick pony, but disguised by some (hopefully) clever writing and humorous antics courtesy of the wonderful Miss Tegan aka Misses Bater aka Baby Bird aka Tater aka Stink-o-patomus (this could go on forever). And if nothing else, you can mock my poor grammar and correct my inability to use the proper form of "their".

So I hope you enjoy the humor that comes with my learn-as-you-go parenting combined with Tegan's overwhelming energy and talent for mess making. It may not be what the cool kids are doing, but at least I'm doing it with the coolest kid I know.