“good morning, sun!”
“good morning, birds!”
“good morning, trees!”
“good morning, grass! i mean, weeds galore!”
it’s starting to become a morning ritual. me and raven by the glass doors looking out into the backyard to greet everything in sight before i sit her on her high chair so i can proceed to heat up jeff’s breakfast of puto and sikwate — steamed glutinous white rice and hot chocolate combo he never seems to tire of. two things that’s probably keeping our marriage alive. and for as long as he’s happy to have it for breakfast every day, i’m happy to make it for the rest of our lives, provided i don’t kill him in the process because, you know, sugar. so no matter how much he nags me to sprinkle more sugar on top, i don’t. i sure as hell don’t wanna be an accessory to the crime.
possible criminal case aside, i would love to grow old with that weirdo. we’d be like cyndi lauper and david thornton, except that he’s cyndi lauper a la girls just wanna have fun. yep, the whole 80’s package. in roller blades.
raven turned 6 months last week. she’s actually 26 weeks and 5 days as of this writing, if i have to be anal about it so technically, she turned 6 months about 3 weeks ago but to make everything easier on my sleep-deprived brain, i use the 27th as a guide. and also because i sort of kind of hate it when i ask moms how old their kids are and they say something like, “oh, she’s 37 months!” and i have to freakin’ do the math to translate that into years, which is more relate-able anyway. less hassle that way especially if you’re not exactly the sharpest crayon in the box. like me.
she’s already eating solids here and there but i’m mainly still breastfeeding her in the hopes that it would make her smart. because studies show that intelligence is an x-chromosome gene which means babies inherit it from their mothers. so unless a new research refutes that claim, raven’s pretty much screwed.
oh, well, tough titties.
i don’t know where i’m going with this post but i’m hitting publish anyway because this little bub is happily squirming in my left arm and playing bubbles with her saliva while pulling my hair out (or what’s left of it because i’m molting like crazy) for fun.
and i don’t think i can last any longer typing with one hand so…