The Difference Between Him And Me

2015-11-08-16.18.22

B and I compared notes this evening over dinner, and so I learned the following.

When B picks up R from daycare (AKA today):

  • She runs excitedly towards him and gives him a hug.
  • She happily sits in her car seat.
  • They chatter and giggle back and forth on the drive home.
  • He brings her inside the house without a problem.
  • He feeds her dinner, which she eats willingly in her high chair.
  • She takes her bath without a problem.
  • She puts her jammies on in a similar fashion.
  • After he pats her gently on her back in her crib, she drifts off to sleep and he’s able to leave the room and continue on with his life.

When I pick up R from daycare (AKA yesterday):

  • She sees me, gets up and walks straight past me to the door.
  • I put her shoes on, she runs away and hangs out on the other side of the room.
  • She sits in her car seat and asks for a cookie.
  • I apologize.
  • She asks for a cookie every 10 seconds.
  • I tell her I don’t have any cookies for her.
  • She cries and wails every 20 seconds.
  • I ignore her and check Waze to see how horrible the traffic is.
  • It’s horrible.
  • She asks for a cookie again.
  • I tell her no.
  • She sobs.
  • I try to distract her with something else.
  • She asks for a cookie.
  • I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING COOKIES.
  • The car in front of me refuses to use his turn signal so I pretend to key his door as I pull around him.
  • She gets so quiet in the back seat that at the next red light, I have to turn around to make sure she’s still alive.
  • She glares at me.
  • I continue to drive.
  • She whines a little.
  • I drive.
  • She burps loudly.
  • I drive.
  • I finally pull into the garage, get all of my stuff while somehow making sure the garage door clicker and the house keys and my water bottle are all within reach.
  • I open her door and unbuckle her car seat, only to discover a slimy half digested tangerine in her lap.
  • Yup, that wasn’t a burp. She had barfed.
  • I get her out and she cries.
  • Everything smells like barf.
  • I put her down so I can grab all of my stuff and close the garage door and she cries.
  • I make her walk up the front step and she cries.
  • I make her dinner and she cries.
  • She stops crying to eat grated cheese but starts to cry every time her bowl of grated cheese looks slightly less than half full.
  • I hold her in my lap while I try to eat dinner over the barf smell and she cries.
  • I draw her a bath and she cries.
  • I wash her face, her hair, her chubby folds, her butt, and her teeth.
  • She no longer smells like barf.
  • She cries.
  • I carry her into the bedroom and she stops crying.
  • I put her down and she starts crying.
  • I help her into her jammies on and cries.
  • I take her temperature because maybe something is really wrong with her.
  • No fever. SERIOUSLY?
  • I rock her in the glider as she whines in my arms.
  • She passes out.
  • 20 minutes later, I put her in her crib.
  • She wakes up at 4:30am.

My car still smells like barf.

  1. Moral of the story…. Always keep cookies on hand! Also remember that the daughters are always harder on mom than dad-!!!

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