THE MOST EVIL BREAKFAST CEREAL OF ALL

Standard

Want to know one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had?

Staying up until almost 4 a.m. to be demolished at NHL 14 by my boyfriend.

Before we had a tiny human crawling underfoot, it would not have a been a big deal. But the tiny human wakes up at eight, so I wake up at eight. This still would not have been so horrible if it weren’t for the awful, evil, terrible scourge that haunts my kitchen cabinets. Even now the big yellow box sits on the counter top, mocking me, just waiting for my little human to wake up and demand more.

I did it to myself. He just likes feeding himself so much and the little enticing O’s are the perfect size for his miniature fingers to pick up. I figured what the heck. I didn’t realize that I’d be digging crushed cereal out of every corner of my home. I had no idea that he would start refusing to eat any other solid food. I thought surely the pleasant pears and yummy yogurt would remain the go to breakfast and lunch choices.

Boy was I wrong. My attempt to supply apples instead of the tasty toasted treat was a bust that resulted in a tantrum of epic proportions. When my tiny little human reached his teeny hand into the plastic orange bowl and discovered no Cheerios, he used all of his nine months of lung power to let out a wail so loud and earth shattering that I’m amazed this side of New York didn’t have a spike in activity on the Richter scale. He threw his head back with all his might, eyes squeezed shut and continued to scream as I scooped him up. We rocked and sang and bounced until the storm calmed. And calm it did. Finally. After what seemed like decades. I let out that huff of breath all parents hold when they are caught between feeling guilty and feeling frustrated because their little human just doesn’t understand. At least we were in the clear. We could put it behind us and start over fresh by playing with the activity table or the Mega Bloks or anything. All was well.

And then I committed a series of egregious, deplorable and heinous attrocities. As I held him in my arms, I turned around. The obnoxious yellow box was clearly visible over my shoulder. I walked right past the offending bowl of apples and picked up the xbox controller.

The tantrum returned full force. Again he screamed. Again he threw his heavy head back and tried to roll away from me. I silently cursed my own stupidity. And caved. I emptied the apples onto a plate, filled the bowl with Cheerios and set my suddenly cheerful, giggling baby on the floor. He happily tossed cereal everywhere while I slumped down next to him.

Do they put baby crack in Cheerios? Can my son sense that my stale, tepid coffee was the only thing preventing me from red ringing? People keep telling me he’s just trying to keep me on my toes. I can’t help but hope one day he has an adorable baby. JUST. LIKE. HIM.

Advertisements

BACK TO WORK

Standard

Here it is. Almost ten months after leaving my job to have our son, my boyfriend has gone from subtle hints to stern warnings and serious demands.

“I think you need time away from Luke.” He says one morning, very much out of the blue, over eggs and toast.

“Money is getting a little tight.” He claims in the cereal aisle of Wegman’s.

“You need to go back to work. Like yesterday.” He tucks his shirt into the slacks I just finished ironing and finishes getting ready for a long 11 hour shift we’re both dreading.

I’m starting to think he’s right.

I love being at home with my son. It is better than any job I could ever imagine, but lately I’m feeling stir crazy and I know my boyfriend wants more time alone with our son.

So here I am at 1 a.m. looking for writing jobs and trying to make room in our little townhouse for a secluded, distraction free home office.