Saturday, March 10, 2007


Daniel likes to hug me these days, possibly because it gives him an opportunity to shove his hands down the front of my shirt and feel around in there like some kind of miniature pervert. He also likes to carry things around, particularly small things like pens, spoons and drinking straws. Things that don't do really anything for him other than fit neatly into the palm of his hand. He also likes to put things inside of other things, so I keep finding weird objets in even weirder places.

Is way cute. Also, is health hazard, as evidenced by this morning's discovery of him chewing on toast he'd stashed I don't know where I don't know how long ago.

He also loves to shop, but it's a bit of a bear to take him along when running errands, which is why I waited until he was in daycare before heading off to do a million things, the last of which found me at the repairer's to kvetch about his stupid carseat, which is at least half the reason I don't like running errands with Daniel in tow. Putting him in the car, taking him out again, oy. I shouldn't be dislocating my shoulder each time I take him out of the seat, and I shouldn't need a degree in physics to put him back in.

It took a lot of patience on repair dude's behalf, with a lot of fucking about with the seat behaving perfectly and me looking delusional with nothing more exciting to do than think up detailed imaginations about child restraints, and a lot of me surreptitiously shaking my fist at the sky and asking God and all the dead people I know, what the fuck?!, but he kept poking around in there (repair dude, not God) trying to get the seat to malfunction. When it finally did, jamming like it always does whenever I'm not having some burly repairer have a look at it, angels sung and it was decided that Daniel's seat should be sent to Melbourne for assessment, where they'll probably stash it out back and leave it there for a week before calling me to report that they've fixed the problem, it was some technical sounding word that's not in the dictionary because it doesn't even exist. We've got a loan seat until then, one that has the exact same retractor mechanism as my ridiculous seat, is six years old and doesn't require the number of an orthopedic surgeon on speed dial on my phone, so if my seat comes back with a report from quality control saying they've found no problems with it, I'm gonna throw it at someone's head.

Anyway, errand over and bla bla bla, and then I noticed the teaspoon sticking out of the arm pittular area of my bra. It must have been there since the particularly warm hug-plus-grope goodbye Daniel had given me that morning in daycare, and had probably totally impressed repair dude and the multidude of other people I'd dealt with since. Yeah.

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