Okay...I have been telling people for about oh...a month that Huddy will be fourteen months on the fourteenth. Um...not until about 2 p.m. today did it hit me that she will, in fact, be fifteen months on the fourteenth of November. Where have I been?
I'll tell you where I've been. Trying to decide if I should stay in school or quit and get fourteen or fifteen jobs to make ends meet. I think my journalism degree/license in massage therapy/freelance writer background scares the buhjeesus out of potential employers, when it should honestly tell them that I am willing (that's for you, Leeburd) to do anything as long as I stay busy. I normally get myself into trouble if I'm left to my own devices. This also explains why I am usually fourteen to fifteen minutes late wherever I go. I could walk out the door fifteen minutes early, but with all that extra time on my hands...why don't I reorganize the pantry? Or write a letter? Or clean out all the drawers in my dresser? You see how it goes.
I sold my old engagement ring today. I will post a picture later. I didn't cry (though I know one certain friend is bawling right now in the fetal position). I didn't get what it was worth or rather, what I could've gotten had I sold it myself (not on eBay to some shyster from some fourth world country...don't even get me started....), but I feel that the price I was paid far outweighed listing the ring on craigslist, meeting the buyer in a gas station parking lot, being kidnapped at knife point and left naked in a field two hundred miles from home. The jeweler was very kind and threw in a sterling silver chain and disk pendant. I am having it engraved with an H for baby. I've been looking for something like it to wear with the peridot my dear dear friend got me on the day Huddy was born.
I went to Huddy's pediatrician today to have a form signed for her daycare claiming that I do not want her eating "milk or any dairy product or food that has been prepared with dairy (i.e., mashed potatoes, mac 'n cheese, etc.), fruit juice with artificial coloring that leaves a red mustache on her upper lip for the whole of the weekend, or hot dogs or processed meat (i.e., "lunch meat" on bread which I assume can only mean bologna). Sure, call me a freak; a psycho mommy even. Hopefully they're not spitting in her organic applesauce and squash before they serve it to her just because I'm annoying and ask for too much. I've busted my ass to feed her well her entire life and now I'm going to send her to school so she can, with her nearly four teeth, eat a thing referred to as "cheese stick," carrots and ranch dressing, cheese pizza pockets with a side of pizza crust and a fucking spinach salad! Hello?? She's quasi-fifteen months old.
After the doctor signed the form, the nurse returned it to me and said, "If she's 18 months old and only has four teeth, the doctor wants you to make an appointment. She may need x-rays." I said, "She's fourteen months old." She said, "Oh, I thought you said 'eighteen months'." I said, "Well, you wrote down her birthdate." She said, "Oh, yeah. My grandson didn't get his teeth until he was fourteen months old." Okay. So I can see how you'd be alarmed. Thanks for sharing.
I left and grabbed a quick lunch and ran to school to be a little early for class. It was then I realized I still haven't changed the time in my Jeep. Or on my watch. So I really must've realized Huddy is nearly fifteen months old at 1 p.m. and not 2 p.m.
I'm keeping us both young without even trying.