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The Silence of the Little Lamb

Cannibal Baby 2

The following is based on actual events

My baby likes to eat a lot

A carrot, squash, a pea

But I kinda get the feeling that

Her favorite dish is me.

I caught her chewing on my shoe

I barely held a scream

Then I found her with her fingers in

A tub of diaper cream.

A scrap of paper off the floor

A tiny speck of crumb

But I do believe what she loves best

Is gnawing on my thumb.

This morning right before her nap

She used my leg to stand

Then she sunk her gums into my calf

I must have tasted bland.

She scrunched her nose up in disgust

I thought she might be done

But her eyes were looking at me like

I was a hot cross bun.

I quickly moved to make some lunch

Some veggies, nice and fresh

But it soon became so very clear

She wanted human flesh.

I started getting nervous when

I heard a troubling sound

She was smacking her lips hungrily

And so I turned around.

It wasn’t very cute at all

It wasn’t at all funny

‘Cause it seemed that what she wanted most

Was me inside her tummy.

Much later in the afternoon

I went in for a kiss

But she bared her teeth and bit my lip

Then closed her eyes in bliss.

I almost called an ambulance

I almost called the cops

As my baby sat upon the couch

Licking clean her chops.

This evening when I drew her bath

She seemed so calm, composed

But she followed me across the floor

Just nipping at my toes.

At bedtime I began to sweat

She made a funny squeal

And I’m pretty sure my baby thinks

I am a Happy Meal.

And now I’m hiding in my bed

I’m running out of luck

Cause my baby is a cannibal

And I’m as scared as fuck.

Silencelittlelamb

 

 

Me at a Party: A Cautionary Tale

Polite company usually makes me behave very badly.

I have recently attended a string of events where one is expected to act like a normal person:  children’s birthday parties, (including my own daughter’s), weddings, various types of showers–and I have failed at almost all of them.

I’m infected with this weird strand of social anxiety that causes me to stand awkwardly in the corner with my mouth shut trying desperately not to do or say something weird.  Well.  Until I drink too much.  Which is always. And then i do quite the opposite.  Here is a handy chart I’ve fashioned to illustrate exactly what happens at, oh, let’s say, choosing something completely randomly, a baby shower.

Toilet Man Chart

 

  1. Receive email inviting me to shower.
  2. Spend the next few weeks thinking of an excuse to not go.
  3. Determine that suicide is not feasible.
  4. Get dressed for party with grace and ease.
  5. Change five times because nothing looks good on my warped post-baby body before putting back on the very first outfit.
  6. Show up to the party.  Realize I know only one person.  Immediately get super awkward.
  7. Think of universal topics to discuss in order to make small talk.  Congratulate myself on my efforts.
  8. Promptly forget everything.
  9. Decide after twenty drinks that I am the most interesting person in the room.  Go up to stranger under the guise of making polite conversation. Say something fucking awful.
  10. Stand by cluelessly as poor individual desperately tries to excuse themselves.
  11. Decide after a successful showing that it’s time to go home.
  12. Remember that drinking alone is the best way to make the worst decisions.  Pass out after sending embarrassing texts to various people who definitely don’t want to hear from me.  For example, everyone.

Of course this behavior is not limited to just baby showers and such–I am an equal opportunity embarrassment–but these are the types of events where I frequently succeed at failing.

So anyway, there you have it.  If you want to have a normal, fun, not-weird event, don’t invite me.  You’ve been warned.

 

 

 

 

In Which I Fail Terribly at Making a Mom Friend

A mom I met in one of RJ’s baby classes asked me to go to coffee the other day, and I was all:

4N7b1JF - Imgur

It’s the same look I gave back in ’06 to this guy (with his own Wikipedia page!) after he asked me if he could snort a couple of lines of my ass:  one of abject horror coupled with curious wonderment.

It’s not that I didn’t want to sit around and talk about the time Mercury came out of her mother’s vagina reciting King Lear–after a couple of glasses of Pinot Grigio, I’d make up amazing shit about my baby too.  But…

The only two things I can do over coffee is 1) complain about my hangover and 2) yell at my boyfriend for not having done the dishes the night before.

So I suggested that we go have a drink instead.  And she looked at me like this:

Screen Shot 2016-01-14 at 9.23.13 AM

It was the same look that the guy from ’06 (with his own Wikipedia page!) gave me when when I told him I hadn’t waxed in five months and it was like “Welcome to the Jungle” down there, so he could proceed at his own risk.

“I can’t have a drink.  I’m breastfeeding,” she bit it out.

So I’m like:

Screen Shot 2016-01-14 at 9.50.40 AM

It’s a sensitive subject, I get it.  When RJ was born, a nurse in the hospital told me that drinking and breastfeeding was fine and that it could actually help with the letdown of milk.  I’m not saying it’s right or wrong, but she was a medical professional.  Who was I to argue with her? In fact, it would have been downright insulting if I hadn’t taken her advice!

Anyway, I understand that not everyone had my insanely qualified nurse to guide them at the onset of their breastfeeding journey, so I eye-darted for like, thirty seconds, and then instead of saying something like “Oh, of course, I totally understand, let’s get coffee,” I panicked and blurted “I’m allergic to coffee beans and tea leaves.”  Which is a completely ridiculous lie, but she was visibly relieved.  So relieved, in fact, that it was kind of embarrassing.

Then we just stood there blinking at each other until she politely excused herself.

And thus concluded another awkward attempt at me trying to fit in with the other new moms.  It was successfully unsuccessful.

giphy

In Which I Attempt to Make a Mom-Friend

In keeping with one of my New Year’s Resolutions, I’m about to meet up with RJ’s friend from music class for a play date, and I get the impression that her mom thinks I’m normal, so I’m like, going light on the eyeliner and trying to think of normal topics to discuss, but I know my social anxiety will immediately take over and I’ll like, drop the fuck word like 10 times and then over-compensate by trying to be relatable by getting her to agree to something like “the best part about having a kid is when you fart or accidentally shit yourself in public, you can totally blame it on your baby, amiright?!”