So when is it no longer a fluke?

Looking like she just lost a fight with Tyson

The Peach slept through the night. Again. This makes 5 nights straight now. The Zen Master and I keep waking up around 4 am and running into her room to make sure she’s still alive. I actually went in this morning at around 5 and poked her to make her move. Mean Mommy. She was seriously in the exact same somebody-shot-me position she’d been in when I put her in the crib last night.

My mother-in-law babysat for us Saturday night when we went to the concert. When she got there, about 20 minutes before we had to leave, she took The Peach and The Peach started screaming. Like, not breathing, turning purple, sweaty, drooling screaming. Okay, so my MIL hasn’t been over too often but Peach is too little for that whole stranger anxiety thing. It was awful. Luckily we had enough time before we left that she basically just screamed herself unconscious but I felt AWFUL leaving her. So when we got home, I told MIL that she should come over more often so The Peach would get more used to her.

So she came to dinner on Monday. Without warning. Not complaining but it was a bit of a surprise when she pulled up right behind me in my driveway as I’m getting home from picking up The Peach. I had enough food for dinner and she pretty much held the (now calm) Peach the whole time she was there. It was actually pretty nice to have her over. I think I lucked out in the MIL department. She’s weird and pretty damn perverted, sure, but so are we. I mean you have to expect The Zen Master’s parents are going to be a little odd, they did raise him. It does make me worry about my own kids a bit though. Princess Punk has all of a sudden developed an odd habit of loudly blurting out “Titties!” at random times (like really random… she called it out from the bathroom in the middle of dinner last night). It’s really weird. I’m sure it doesn’t help that every time I change The Peach’s clothes I coo at her, “I see your taco! I see your itty-bitty titties!” And then I tickle her until she squeals.


Yup… Mother of the year.

I guess I could be worse…


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