Blurphy’s Law: Just when you’re certain you have absolutely nothing to write about and will never again have an interesting thought or even a thought that isn’t somehow related to your infant’s butt, you will fall down, and then you will have something to write about.
This past weekend was Ammobowl. Ammo is Phil’s career field in the Air Force, and Ammobowl is when a bunch of people from a bunch of bases in the region get together to have a softball tournament and drink. It’s actually more of a drinking event with some softball.
Phil helped to coordinate the event this year and had no intention of playing, as he is more of a “send emails to find sponsors” kind of guy (as that can be done from a computer) than a “suit up and play a sport” kind of guy (as that has to be done outside, with physical activity and coordination). Basically, Phil is a Standard Nerd, not an Action Nerd.
However, apparently one of the tenets of Ammobowl is that everyone who wants to play gets to play, which in the case of Luke (this base), necessitated the creation of a B Team (the A Team being where all the Standard Action Guys were playing). Phil found himself drafted into the B Team, because, come on! He already put in so much effort (he got a strip club to sponsor the event AND hold a party for them all on Saturday night), he should get to play!
He chose his own jersey number.
See? Action Nerd.
He left early Saturday morning to help set everything up and came back to get Penny and I for the first game. Which was spectacular. Now, the Luke A team did not win the tournament, but I hear they played quite well. I’m glad I didn’t waste my time watching them, though, because watching the B Team was HILARIOUS.
You know how in baseball movies, sometimes there is a team that is ridiculously bad and then a new player or a new coach or a middle schooler, in the case of Little Big League, comes and turns the whole team around, but before the team is turned around, there’s some montage of comical errors?
Yeah, it was that, and it was AWESOME. People were running towards the ball, only to have it drop to the ground directly between them. Tripping over the ball. I swear, someone actually watched the ball go through his legs. Throwing to the wrong base. Throwing to the RIGHT base and coming up 12 feet short. Running around with no idea where the ball actually was. Running in circles between bases (and this is where the alcohol comes in, I’m sure), trying to avoid being tagged, as if it was an actual GAME of tag.
I know Phil was concerned about his lack of baseball skill – after all, a Standard Nerd is not built into an Action Nerd in one day – but he didn’t need to worry. He subbed in at catcher for two innings, and not ONE TIME did his team even come close to throwing someone out at the plate. By the time the ball made it back from the outfield, six people had scored and had been back in their dugout for 15 minutes, and that’s not even possible in baseball. That’s how bad it was. He never had to worry about making a mistake because… ha.
Bad in a good way, though, if by “good way” we can all agree that I mean “so, so, so entertaining.”
That game was called at the 4th inning, when the score was 20-1. The Luke B Team did not win. Phil took Penny and I home and went back out to play another game. When he came back from that game, he let me know that it was also called at the 4th inning, with a score of 32-0.
I will also note that when Phil got a chance at bat, he was quickly out, but at least he didn’t strike out, which apparently is extremely ill advised at Ammobowl. Each team brought their own Decoration of Shame for anyone who struck out. Our team had a pink t-shirt that hadn’t been washed in about 4 years, stating, “I struck out at slow pitch softball.” I also saw a pink tutu, and, worst of all, a hot pink sports bra.
ANYWAY, point of the story, which I should have made way back closer to the top. You know how I said Phil came to pick up Penny and I to bring us to watch the first game? Well, I had about 30 minutes to get us both ready, which meant I had to hop in the shower lightning fast. I was actually getting things all coordinated relatively quickly and was impressed with myself, since we still have the new parent problem of it taking upwards of 30 minutes to pack a bag for Penny before we get out the door – a bag full of items she does not use, except for the one time when we didn’t have them and, well, you can imagine.
So I ran to get in the shower and I knew the second that I stepped in that something wasn’t right. Looking back, I should not have gotten in the shower at all, but I was short on time and didn’t think it through. About 2 minutes in, right when I was all soaped up in some kind of land speed shower soaping record, especially considering my extra pear parts, I slipped.
I slipped, I spun 90 degrees, and I fell. My feet went out from under me, I sat down HARD on the edge of the tub, slid off of that after leaving what I was sure was a sizable dent in my ass, and flopped face down onto the floor of the shower. I don’t know if I’ve accurately described this, but imagine some kind of elaborate ballet, except performed by an overfed fainting goat on ice, with an air of impending death.
As soon as I got out of the shower, I was on the phone to Phil.
“DID YOU PUT ON WATERPROOF SUNSCREEN STANDING IN THE BATHTUB?”
“… yes, I’m going to be outside all day, and I didn’t want to make a mess. It seemed like a good idea. Why?”
There are these pants at Target. They’re pajama pants by Gilligan and O’Malley and I call them floppy pants. Not just any pajama pants are floppy pants, and not even just any pair of Gilligan and O’Malley pajama pants are the specific floppy pants I require. They come in full length and more of a bermuda style, and I have collected numerous pairs of them, because they are all I want to wear, ever.
Unfortunately, the dogs have this uncanny knack for targeting things that I really love. Because of that, I have lost several pairs of beloved floppy pants to the dogs, either in tug of wars with Early Sheldon (not that Current Sheldon doesn’t ruin things, but it’s been a while since he decided to try to depants me in the back yard) or in fits of pique by the oversensitive Brinkley.
I actually lost so many pairs of these pants that I stopped throwing them away. I have two pairs – a long blue pair and a short red pair – that are almost more hole than pants. They were both viciously attacked by dogs who CLEARLY want to suck every last bit of joy out of my life and now display more than a little bit of bare leg and big underpants through their shredded up fabric.
You know what, though? It’s my house and I’m sick of rebuying all these pants, and if I want to wear holey pants around the house, I WILL, so I DO and I AM.
This morning, I was just waking up enough to hand Penny off to Phil before he left for work so that I could use the bathroom and upon stepping out of bed, I stepped INTO a hole in my OWN PANTS, stepped on Brinkley while trying to regain my balance, and went sprawling across the bedroom floor, face down. Phil stood in stunned silence while the dogs ran over to administer first aid via the application of wet noses to my scalp.
A long time ago, I got out of bed and one of my legs was asleep but I didn’t know it, so I fell right on my face. From there, I proceeded to have one of the most frustrating days ever, where every little thing went wrong. That lead me to create a personal rule: if ever a day should start out with the first thing that happens being you FALLING ON YOUR FACE, just get back in bed and start over tomorrow.
And that is why I’m sitting in bed right now.
As of Sunday, Penny is one month old.
This is Penny at no months old:
And this is Penny at one month old:
“Hey! I know that guy! Also, I’ve just realized I can focus my eyeballs on things! Except for cameras! I can’t focus my eyeballs on cameras. Or, maybe I can and I just won’t. You know what, that sounds like me. That’s more likely the case.”
I’m not really sure how much Penny weighs right now or how long she is, because I don’t know, it didn’t really occur to me that I would want to note those things monthly and I don’t really have a method or system for checking those stats. She did go to the doctor a couple of weeks ago and weighed 7 lbs, 2 oz. And a week before that, she had weighed 6 lbs, 8 oz and was 19.5″ long. So let’s just assume she’s slightly bigger than that now.
Penny finally has developed a skill, though I can’t say it’s one we particularly enjoy – she has learned how to crawl UP us. I don’t know how else to put that. If you are holding her and you are even slightly reclined, she will crawl up you. I don’t think she should be able to do that, and I assure you that she isn’t using this new found power for good.
Dislikes: Being cold, anything more than a split second delay between demand for food and delivery of food, sunlight, keeping her pacifier in her mouth even though she knows damn well she DOES REALLY WANT THAT PACIFIER, boobs
Likes: Acting like she’s interested in boob and then shrieking directly into it instead, being swaddled, escaping swaddles, watching television with Phil, riding in the car, collecting admirers, farting directly on Phil as soon as he opens her diaper (which I have taken to mean that she loves to make me laugh), rotating through series of increasingly hilarious expressions at top speed
If Penny could talk, I’m pretty sure this is what she’d say: “Hey, remember how you thought I would only sleep on one of you at night, and then the other night, I slept in my cosleeper all night with no problems and you thought I was over it? PSYCH. Tonight, not only do I require that you hold me all night, laying on your chest is no longer enough contact for me. I am going to crawl up your body in a way that I, by rights, SHOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DO, and put my face on yours. That’s right. Face on face. That’s how we sleep now. My face on your face. Don’t try to break the face-face connection or I. WILL. SCREAM.”
“Psst. Bear. I didn’t pick out this dress. Just so you know. I just want that to be known. I did not choose this dress.”
Recent failures: We need to wash this baby more often. Seriously. I mean, I wipe her down, but I’m pretty sure we need to actually bathe her again soon. Also, I confess that I smush her hair down with a baby wipe because otherwise, I have no idea what the hell to do with it.
Recent victories: After a couple of weeks of trying to calm me down and tell me it wasn’t possible, last night, Phil finally threatened to sell Penny to the gypsies. I don’t know if that’s a victory in anyone else’s world, but you know what, I’ll take it. We have both, at one time or another, reached a point at which we wanted to give the baby to Brad Pitt’s character in Snatch. High five!
See, this is why I said not to count on monthly updates or letters to Penny or whatever. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Maybe it gets easier when she starts doing things or whatever, but this is all I’ve got for now. She’s here, she can kind of hold her head up a little bit, she often smells pretty bad, and she’s an overall good baby who we take to stores and restaurants and wherever we go with no problems, because she kind of rules.
Except for that whole face-on-face thing. I know you’re supposed to love your kid unconditionally, flaws and all, but the face-on-face thing – I do not love that. I do not love that at all.