[caption id="attachment_472238" align="alignright" width="344" caption="What do you do when your ass hurts at 4:30 a.m.? Pway bwocks."][/caption]
Ah, life. You little … poopy head.
I wanted to say "you little bitch," but the word "ass" in my Facebook status over the weekend prompted a note from my high school French teacher that he doesn't appreciate my use of "nasty words" in my updates.
I wanted to say "pardon my French," but I just let it be.
Good lord, what's with all this self-censorship? That's not me. Especially on my own blog. That shit stops right now.
So, it's 5:17 a.m. as I write this, and my 2-year-old is on the couch next to me watching "Thomas the Train." Evidently that's what you do when your little butt hurts so bad you can't sleep, right after a riveting game of blocks at 4:30 a.m.
"Sit. Let's pway bwocks, Mitty." How can you say no to that, even if you're puzzled as to why your toddler is suddenly calling you by your first name?
The poor little guy has had several days of diarrhea likely caused by this latest round of antibiotics for his chronic ear problems, which has led to a violent case of diaper rash. He screams and shakes when we change his diaper right now, so I'm staying home with him today.
Honestly, he hasn't had diaper rash this bad since we ended up in the hospital ER last New Year's Eve with the rash and "mysterious bruising" that turned out to be the blue and green dye from the Mickey and Minnie Mouse on his Huggies staining his thighs.
Seriously. Does this crap happen only to me?
[caption id="attachment_472240" align="alignright" width="389" caption="This is Alan. He's gonna lose."][/caption]
Which brings me to the point of this post … ah, yes. Life being a little bitch. It keeps getting in the way right now, and I pretty much came to a complete stop on all weight loss efforts (yes, again) right after Thanksgiving.
Never fear … I'll be back. If for no other reason than that I can't back down from a challenge.
While I was out with my dear pal Alan over the weekend, we were playing shuffleboard at the bar, and he happened to mention to another friend that I'm one of the most competitive people he knows. (Confession: I probably should be medicated or at least receive counseling for the things I turn into competitions.)
Talk later turned to weight loss, and he said that's the only thing I won't compete with him on.
I'll admit, he has challenged me to some sort of weight loss contest a couple of times recently, and I have declined. I just haven't been in the right mindset.
But I am accepting the challenge, and we will begin with the New Year.
Well, I must go. Since I started writing this, we've switched to "Casper" and then "Tom and Jerry." And it's about time to again tend to the "owie" on my son's ass.
Pardon my French.