Our sole remaining cat is 17 and a half years old. She's in pretty good shape, relatively healthy, and dumb as a load of bricks. She's also getting cranky and demanding in her dotage. What would have been cute, if annoying in a kitten (the "I want to play at 3:30 AM" antics, among other things) have made the transition to annoying and frustrating. Among her repertoire of "pay attention to me" late night activities are: rattling the closet doors scratching at the closet doors scratching at the sheets and mattress right next to my head finding, walking on, and rustling any stray items that make a nice crinkly sound (e.g., my gym bag) hopping up on the bed and leaning the full weight of her body against my face because she always must be touching me (this is a move we've dubbed the "golden retriever") tapping me in the hollow of my throat with one paw pawing at the sheets so she can burrow, temporarily, down by my knees doing the "
An interesting incident from January 2012 when I was still a new mom... We are in line at the grocery store, my five month-old daughter sound asleep in her baby carrier on the cart and me watching the woman in front of us unloading her cart's contents onto the belt. The woman is blonde, blue-eyed, petite, and pretty. The little boy standing next to her - probably five years-old or so - has to be her son because he looks exactly like her. He is adorable. I can't help staring at him. The little boy notices me gazing at him so I give him what I hope is my best "I really like little kids" smile. Thankfully he smiles back. Then he notices the baby carrier sitting on my cart and makes his way over to me. "Can I see the baby?" he asks me in a raspy voice. "Sure, Buddy," I say and move aside. Grasping the cart handle he hoists himself up for a good look. Apparently this is a kid who really likes babies because he gets a goofy big smile on his fa
"It's a LOT of togetherness," I often hear myself saying in conversation when I'm talking about my life as a stay-at-home-mom. "A LOT of togetherness." I wouldn't have it any other way. But, man, is it ever a lot of togetherness. Oy. Here's the thing that you aren't supposed to say about being a stay-at-home-mom: Being a stay-at-home-mom is kind of driving me crazy. Don't get me wrong...I LOVE my daughter. I love love love love love her. I love her like I've never loved anybody. It's an intense, crazy, deep love that makes me ache when I look at her. How did I get so lucky to be the mom of this amazing person??? When I see her wicked smile and her dimple. Omigod...the dimple. It's the cutest dimple EVER. And I hear her laugh. Pure joy. It fills me up. I know that I am the luckiest mom on the planet. Bar none. Really. But then she has one of her spectacular meltdowns. Omigod. The meltdowns. Brutal. For both of us.
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