Yesterday I pissed Eleanor off. I mean, she was livid.
The Boy and I went to Belgium to visit The Little Guy for his eighth birthday. Did you hear that? Eight. When I met The Boy, TheLittleGuy was not yet three. Aka STILL A BABY.
Freakiness of how-quickly-time-flies aside, we had a pleasant Belgian day. There were lots of legos involved in much of the afternoon, and at some point the boys decided to put on their rollerblades and start a competition. Later, The Boy wrestled with TheLittleGuy and his brother while TheLittleGuy's mom - hereby known as FreakishlyTinyforRecentlyHavingaBaby - and I looked at baby pictures.
Baby pictures. Let me just say this: FreakishlyTiny has three beautiful, beautiful children. TheLittleGuy is going to hurt women soon with his gorgeous eyes and pensive manner.* His (half) brother, SuperBlondBoy (6), has gorgeous, gorgeous eyes that laugh genuinely. He is an incredible sweetheart, sort of like a walking, talking cherub.
And then there's the baby. Oh my God, the baby, Mini SuberBlondBoy.
This baby is 9 months old, and is at the phase where he can crawl and can grab things and try to stand, but can't quite hack it. He is also a natural smiler and he'll just look around the room and smile for hours. I think he cried twice in the entire afternoon. I wanted to take Mini SuperBlondBoy home with me, but I had to content myself with just watching him for hours on end with a stupid, stupid grin on my face.
Of course, FreakishlyTiny caught me and said, "Don't you want one?"
"Yeah, most definetly," I responded.
"Yeah. I want another one, when I see him." Modest? Not really. But I agree with her. Mini SuperBlondBoy is the breezy type of baby, who makes having kids look as simple as it does on sit-coms.
But then you know what was really bad? It managed to get worse. My ovaries actually started sorta pulsating and twisting in agony when they saw The Boy holding Mini SuperBlondBoy. All women agree on this one point: a man is at the pinnacle of sexiness when holding a baby juuuuuuust right. Jesus.
Eleanor just winced again in memory.
Of course, I talked with FreakishlyTiny about the hells of motherhood, and she successfully made it sound pretty hellish. But then she turned it all around in that annoying way that young mothers can by saying, "But it's all worth it. One smile, one cuddle, one second with him, and it's worth it." As an added stab to Eleanor, she said this as she held him in her arms, and he was starting to get sleepy. Just then, he dipped his head into the crook of her neck and fell asleep as she gave me the knowing look: "Aww... he's tuckered."
Eleanor was yelling and breaking dishes by this point, but I put her back in her trunk quickly so as not to wake the baby. Eleanor, of all people, should understand that kind of reasoning. Still, I don't know what I'm going to do to shut that bitch up for the next few weeks. I feel like I have a perpetual cute baby film turning in my head. Somebody needs to switch it back to "Working Girl" or some shit.
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*TheLittleGuy has recently confessed to his mom that he has a crush on a girl in his class. She wouldn't tell us (just because she promised she'd keep her identity secret, and she didn't want to break the promise) but tried to lure the information out of him.
"LittleGuy, do you have any girl friends in your class?"
"No." he answered, pretty pissed.
"Really?" she asked, holding the picture of his class in her hand,"Which of these girls is your friend??"
"Nobody." he said, strongly and with a scowl.
She stifled a giggle and said, "But, I thought..."
"NOBODY!!!" he yelled back at her, "There's NOBODY! STOP ASKING!"
The adults all gave one another a knowing smile, and, in French, we said to one another, "Yeah, he's got it baaaad."
"I don't know what I'm going to do to shut that bitch up for the next few weeks." What happens in a few weeks?
Oh, and there's always the obvious, but daft suggestion: have a baby?
Eleanor usually freaks out in 2-3-week cycles. So if I get over this hurdle, I might make it through Christmas.
Yes, there is the obvious have-a-baby suggestion. But um, no. Not right now anyway. I live on the sixth floor (no elevator), remember? No way I want to lug a stroller and baby up all that. No thanks.
(Obviously, there are other, more valid reasons, too)
Dude, what happened to your little spring anecdote?
And I hear ya on the Eleanor. Li'l Mini Painter has just started smiling. Good GOD, Eleanor just starts weeping when I hold him and sniff his little head.