We interrupt this baby-fest with some sweet family silliness… reporting to you live from Ostara Planet.
My big wild bushman dad is staying with us this week so he can dose up on some baby-holding. Below are two true conversations from the supermarket. If anyone has ever wondered why I’m weird, these conversations can testify that it’s probably a genetic issue.
Next to the deli, my Dad dramatically puts down his basket, and starts hefting his pants up.
Bloody jocks! I hate these underpants! There’s no elastic left in them! They keep falling down around my ankles! I hate them! I’m going to throw them out!
I roll my eyes.
Dad, wait till you have real problems to whine about! I have no sympathy for your loose jocks! My vagina is all stitched up!
At the mention of the V word, my Dad quietens down, picks up his basket and continues.
Yes, well, right. I’m still going to throw out these jocks though.
At the check-out, my Dad asks:
Where are your green reusable shopping bags Leonie?
At home in the cupboard, Dad. Where all good reusable shopping bags should be.
Ohhhhhhh nauuuuughty Leonie! Save the environment! Save the dolphins!
Get off my back Dad, I just had a baby. I have a leave pass from remembering stuff right now. YOU should try having a baby.
I did! I had five!
You might have five kids though, but you didn’t give birth! You didn’t breastfeed! All you had to physically do to make babies was have sex!
Oh, but Leonie, I did it selflessly. I only had sex with the intention of making a baby. I had a pure motivation. It was a TOTALLY selfless act.
At which point, the lady in front of us in line turned around to stare at us like we were the craziest baby-making Saints on the planet.
And we were.
Love, a Goddess made by a totally selfless act,