There will be no Fashion Friday today because…well, there just won’t be. I’m way too busy staring at my Christmas tree and wondering if there might be a way to remove the ornaments and lights by osmosis.
However, here’s a quick fashion tip. If you eat an entire plate of toffee by yourself, then your most comfortable fashion option will be flannel pajama pants. Don’t depress yourself with futile attempts to button your jeans.
I’ve spent much of the last two days recovering on the couch. I didn’t even get out of my pajamas until after noon and there wasn’t one sale that could have coaxed me out of the house. It’s like Santa brought me an alternate personality for Christmas.
It was just so nice to watch Caroline play with all her new toys, even though I spent a large chunk of time wondering why I thought it was such a great idea for Santa to bring the Nintendo Puppy that responds to noise by howling, barking and wagging its tail. Y’all know what makes a lot of noise?
A four year old.
Y’all know what’s even louder?
A Nintendo Puppy that responds to noise by howling, barking and wagging its tail.
Look what else Santa brought!
It’s one of Satan’s minions disguised to look like a baby doll.
And lest you think I’m joking, let me tell you that it actually threw up on me yesterday. It was like a scene straight from “The Exorcist”.
It’s a Baby Born doll and it came in a box with a caption saying, “Performs SIX bodily functions without batteries”. P saw it and said he’s not sure he performs six bodily functions.
As much as I hated for Santa to bring anything that performs any number of bodily functions, my hands were tied. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, all Caroline talked about was Butterscotch Pony. She loved Butterscotch Pony. Life WOULD NOT be complete without Butterscotch Pony.
The problem is Butterscotch Pony is a big, stuffed waste of money. It’s essentially an enormous stuffed animal you sit on and pretend to feed a carrot while it makes whinnying noises, which are horse talk for “You’re a huge sucker that paid $250 for a stuffed animal.”
I worked hard to direct her attention to something else that she could love for three days after Christmas and then completely forget about. Preferably something less expensive that would, more importantly, take up less space in the playroom. Then one day, a commercial for Baby Born caught her eye. The big selling point was that Baby Born comes with her own potty.
Which, ironically, is the same reason I fell in love with P.
I highly encouraged her excitement over Baby Born. I was excited everytime I heard her singing the little catchy jingle about Baby Born which, by the way, made no reference about the vomit. Although in all fairness, it’s hard to find words that rhyme with vomit.
I knew she came with her own potty, I knew she ate food, I knew that she drank from a bottle. I knew all of that. I was just so blinded by my desire to not have Butterscotch Pony become a part of our family that I just ignored all the warning signs.
On Christmas Eve, I got everything out to start setting up Santa’s display of mass consumerism. Most of the toys merely involved unwinding 58 yards of heavy plastic holding in Cinderella and her magical horse.
Of course the Polly Pockets Race to the Mall almost caused me to check myself into some sort of institution. I am certain it was some sort of diabolical revenge plotted by China to get back at us for all the toy recalls. The whole thing consisted of hot pink plastic roadways and vague directions about inserting part 7 into part 5, although none of that is really relevant if the parts aren’t numbered to begin with.
Fortunately, P was in deep meditation and prayer for me throughout the Polly Pockets trauma.
Once I got Polly Pockets all set up and ready to race to the mall, I opened up Baby Born and started reading the instructions. Here is just a sampling: “Remove Baby Born’s diaper and press her onto the potty. NOTE: Food will only leave Baby Born when her legs are pressed onto the potty, as this action opens the food valve. WARNING: Never try to push a real baby onto the potty.”
Thanks for that brilliant advice.
What the manufacturers of Baby Born neglect to share is what to do if Baby Born eats her little food mixture and then fails to poop in the potty. I mean, I am the last to judge because it took months of potty training Caroline before she realized it was okay to poop in the potty.
The problem is Baby Born isn’t pooping AT ALL. ANYWHERE. She’s bound to be constipated and her little box full of diapers, pacifiers and bottles failed to supply any type of suppository or other poop aids, like perhaps a jar of strained prunes. Yet, because Caroline is a compulsive nurturer, we continue to shovel food into Baby Born’s mouth at regular intervals.
Apparently last night, Baby Born had enough. I turned her upside down as I performed the role of baby proctologist and she proceeded to throw up all over me.
My ultimate concern is that, in about a month, Baby Born is going to poop a big piece of mold.
Which makes me wish Santa had just been smart enough to bring that stupid Butterscotch Pony.
But then I see how happy she is with her little bundle of mold and it makes the puke on my jeans almost worth it.
Almost.
