Gametes In Love

G got a new friend via post last week, courtesy of Grammie. His name is Tiggy. Tiggy Brachiasaurus. G picked out the name himself. Tiggy is now a permanent fixture in G’s bed.

Interestingly enough, though, every other friend amongst hist toy collection he is also naming Tiggy.

Someone needs to teach G the concept of unique identification. Meanwhile, meet Tiggy.

I think I’ve discovered the secret to amazing hair: have your toddler drool on it all night long.

I’m actually not kidding.

G right now has a bit of a head cold. (Cross my fingers) he’s not sick, sick, but he has a stuffy nose. Since he refuses to BLOW his nose, it means that he wakes up at night stuffed up and doesn’t know what to do about it. He went to bed the other night super whiny and wanted me to go to bed with him (which I did). It was a rough night. He woke up often, stuffed up and coughed. We finally tackled him and used the Nosefreida on him (which by the way, on a kicking toddler is no fun), and then he was able to sleep. Sleep on my head.

I woke up with his face in my hair, mouth agape, “styling” my locks through the early hours of the morning.

Of course, since it was 6, we needed to be out of the house at 7, and I had myself to get ready, and infant to nurse/change/dress, and bags to get in the car, there was no room for a shower. Yes, hold your disgust please. This is called being a parent, Okay?

BUT, my hair looked awesome!!!! If this is what bed-head looks like post a night of toddler drool, I’d almost sign up for that daily. It had lift, the ends were curled up at the bottom, and it fell “just right” in a way I could only replicate if I spent a good long time with gel, blow-drier and a curling brush. Things I’m not doing in the morning these days, to be sure.

I really should’ve taken a picture.

Per our conversation this evening

G [while pretending to eat me]: Nom, nom, nom, nom, nom
Me: What are you doing?
G: I eating YOU.
Me: You’re eating me?
G: Yeah
Me: Am I tasty?
G: Yeah
Me: What do I taste like?
G: CHICKEN!!!

So clearly everything does, in fact, taste like chicken… including mommies.