Beware...
One of the things I love most about Katie is her intensity. She can't hide it, and doesn't even want to try. Of all the baby photos of her I've seen, my favorite by a long way is of her at perhaps one or two, seated in a high chair, bottle in her hands, the very same look of focused anxiety in her brows which she gets now. I watch her drink some juice after her morning prenatal vitamin and my little bengal is wearing the same face as when she drank milk in a high chair.
Her frustration can surface volcanically. About a month ago we were walking out of the local police station, having registered the car. There was a small blossom tree out front, with some low-hanging branches. I walked by it, and a half-second later heard an enraged yelp. Turning around, there was Kate, fighting with the branches she'd somehow walked into. It didn't improve her mood that I laughed helplessly for the next five minutes, which led to her explaining that the cry was more from frustration than pain. All the funnier.
Tonight's been another lazy night, with dinner followed by a basketball game on TV (those Magic are looking pretty tough for the Cavs--and Katie's rooting for the Magic now, even though they eliminated the Celtics). I've gotten Katie to like Brussels sprouts, by boiling them well and then sauteeing them in garlic butter. MMMmmmm...anyway, so I'm sitting here placidly watching my game, while Kate was in the bathroom/laundry, working on a load of clothes. Suddenly, a scream. "RRrrrAAaawwrrrrr!" A few seconds, then... "*&%! me!"
She hadn't yelled again, and it didn't sound like pain. I approached the door slowly, not wanting to open it into her (it's a small room). She emerged, holding an armful of clothes, with a slightly sheepish look on her face.
"I did it again. I dropped another sock in the toilet."
Ah. No problem then...
(PS she's still steaming about it. "I can't believe I did that, twice. I'm going to close the toilet lid every time I go in there now." I'm really looking forward to this being an enduring record of us and our relationship, for our kids. You know?)
Her frustration can surface volcanically. About a month ago we were walking out of the local police station, having registered the car. There was a small blossom tree out front, with some low-hanging branches. I walked by it, and a half-second later heard an enraged yelp. Turning around, there was Kate, fighting with the branches she'd somehow walked into. It didn't improve her mood that I laughed helplessly for the next five minutes, which led to her explaining that the cry was more from frustration than pain. All the funnier.
Tonight's been another lazy night, with dinner followed by a basketball game on TV (those Magic are looking pretty tough for the Cavs--and Katie's rooting for the Magic now, even though they eliminated the Celtics). I've gotten Katie to like Brussels sprouts, by boiling them well and then sauteeing them in garlic butter. MMMmmmm...anyway, so I'm sitting here placidly watching my game, while Kate was in the bathroom/laundry, working on a load of clothes. Suddenly, a scream. "RRrrrAAaawwrrrrr!" A few seconds, then... "*&%! me!"
She hadn't yelled again, and it didn't sound like pain. I approached the door slowly, not wanting to open it into her (it's a small room). She emerged, holding an armful of clothes, with a slightly sheepish look on her face.
"I did it again. I dropped another sock in the toilet."
Ah. No problem then...
(PS she's still steaming about it. "I can't believe I did that, twice. I'm going to close the toilet lid every time I go in there now." I'm really looking forward to this being an enduring record of us and our relationship, for our kids. You know?)
Better a clean sock in the toilet than a poop in a full bathtub. Your baby's coming - are you ready?!!!
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