Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Grotesque confession

This little confession may ban me from ever being a part of the civilized business world again but I'll take the risk.

I am a picker. Brad is happy that Brooks is on the scene now so I don't spend my evenings with tweezers picking at him. Poor Brooks - he doesn't know better yet and doesn't fight me off too much. I love to comb through any matted hair. I love to cut his finger and toe nails. I love to wash his face constantly to clear any baby goo away. He had a baby sized pimple last week and I may or may not have tried to squeeze it while he was preoccupied with his mac and cheese. Yestreday's find about tops them all. Go ahead and X out of this page if you have a weak stomach or if you are a former employer or someone who thinks I am amazingly clean and put together. Brooks had been growing the hardest, longest little baby boogie for about 3 days now and yesterday after much anticipation I decided it was time for the operation. I'll spare you any more details or pictures but just be at ease knowing that Brooks was just as giddy as I was that he could now breathe out of his right nostril. I was worried for a second that I pulled his precious little brain out but he laughed afterwards so I laughed and we all embraced. And we lived happily ever after. Until the next speck of a boogie makes it's appearance....

I know I am not alone in this confession. Fess up girls!

1 comment:

  1. Okay, FINE. I'll admit it. I am a picker too. Can't help it, it's an obsession.