I'm a Slob. Part Two.

So I don't want to bore you guys by droning on and on about how my hygiene standards are slipping, and I know that the negative changes to my life post-baby are a rather pervasive topic already, but... I have one more post.  Well, at least one more.

My friend Davina was here last week.  She came for four wonderful days.  She was an excellent houseguest- she filled the empty dishwasher, helped cook, took the dog for a pee while I strapped the child into the car.  She did pretty much everything I forget to do while I'm busy chatting. Which is why I'm an awful houseguest.  I'm terrible at multi-tasking socializing with- well- everything else.  Except for drinking all the wine in the house, of course.  I'm pretty good at multi-tasking that with chatting.

Anyways, petite Davina is perfectly put together and came with a fleet of cute dresses, pretty cardigans and nautical handbags.  Her scuffless boots smell like smoked cow, and her black hair is long and lustrous and shiny.  On the other hand, I went through my weekly rotation of five hoodies, and -as we all know- for me, getting ready means putting on a real bra and pinning back my greasy bangs.  There is nothing like having a beautiful, childless, young professional in the house to put your reality in harsh relief.  For example, aside from the obvious differences in personal appearance:

1. I forgot I had numerous appointments while she was here.  When we made plans for her to come visit, I assured her I was free and clear.  Because generally, I have no life.  After she got here I realized (read: Adrian reminded me.  Because we've come to understand that, for whatever reason, I can't be trusted to remember important dates at this point in unemployed time) that I had at least 3 appointments while she was here, and one of them was an interview.  I had forgotten I had an interview.  Another one was a two-hour class.  That I have at the same time every week.
2. We were no less than half an hour late leaving the house for almost everything we planned.  And I was still the under-dressed of the two of us.
3. I was reminded of how much I like shopping.  I used to love shopping.  I haven't been shopping much since I had Ann, and even less since we moved here in July.  As Adrian pointed out in Costco the other day when I was bragging about how much wear I was getting out of my bleach-stained jogging pants, "At the risk of sounding crazy, I think you're too committed to our budget".  So we went shopping.  Davina's really good at it.  And Victoria is FULL of amazing little boutiques.  Looking at all the beautiful spring dresses I remembered what it was like to have disposable income, and entire weekends to try on great outfits in stores and congratulate myself in the mirror on how banging my pre-baby body is.  I got so carried away that I forgot I even had a child, and she ran reckless through the stores (just kidding.  That would be irresponsible.  Davina chased after her).
4.  I yell a lot.  At the dog to stop biting, at Ann to stop teasing the dog.  At them both to let go, get down, come here, stop that!  I think that sometimes I forget at whom I'm yelling.  And why.  I think that probably makes me a tyrant. 

The difference between this sad, pathetic post and the last sad, pathetic post is that Davina did point out there is a lot of joy going on in our home.  And by 'joy' I mean that we're laughing at the ridiculous things Ann is saying and doing that she will rue as a teenager.  And we are unlikely to forget, because like parents everywhere, the entire lexicon of our home is changing with Ann.  Because some of the words she mispronounces are too adorable not to adapt into everyday conversation.  To the delight of all our normal friends.  For example:

• Bwankwet- blanket
• Gyna- vagina (...not that it comes up in conversation with other adults very often...)
• Pooter- Computer
• Higherduck- an under-duck on the swing
• Wunch- lunch

Unfortunately, imitating your child and mimicking other people's accents can sound surprisingly similar.  This makes us both cutesy and racist.  You would probably not want to hang out with us either.

Adding to my appreciation for my spirited little girl lately is that one of her little friends has just been diagnosed with Leukemia, and is undergoing chemo this week.  Every time I feel myself losing it on Ann, I remind myself of how lucky I am that my little almost-three-year-old is healthy and strong.  And then I have a little more patience when she pushes the chair up to the counter so she can climb up and cram marshmallows into her face, a little more time for eight more higher-ducks at the swings, a little more joy for ten more minutes of bubble-blowing at the pool, and a lot more gratitude for ferocious hugs that may or may not have been coerced with a promise of marshmallows. 

Happy Weekend Everyone!