All I can think of is Miss Doxie and how funny she is, and how I want to totally be her when I grow up (minus the sleep deprivation of all that lawyering), and how I have absolutely nothing to say now that I am here.

I mean, I have stuff, but it's just random bullshit. Does anyone really care about that?

I keep seeing that stupid My Baby Can Read commercial. That's great and all, but it is really a good thing? Do I really want a 6 month old baby reading? That just seems a little bit, I don't know, extreme. It seems like everyone wants their kid to be "gifted" these days. I decided I want my kid to be a kid. I have read the What to Expect books, and I keep milestones in the back of my head, but for the most part I don't worry about it. He's happy and healthy and growing. I really don't worry if he walks at exactly 12 months or not.

At this rate, I am debating giving him coffee in his sippy and teaching him to smoke in an effort to stunt his growth. The kid is gonna be a total freak of nature if he doesn't stop with the tallness. He needs 18 month pants for the length, but when I put 12 month pants on him, they just fall right back off. Apparently he was not blessed with my hips and butt. Or, as his goofy aunt that has some serious word confusion says, "he's a silicone". Meaning cylinder. She has issues.

We went to the park today and even took the dogs with us. It was 70 degrees and I felt the need to be out in Mother Nature. We spent an hour there. The dogs tried to chase the tree rats and kill the other dogs that stumbled across their path, and the Minion spent the whole time with a death grip on me, peeking around at the other chilren with an unsure look on his face, trying to eat handsfull of the bark mulch stuff they put on the playground.

His look of contempt didn't exactly have the same effect with bark hanging out the corner of his mouth. And the fact that he was clinging to me like a spider monkey. But the eyebrows, they totally said, "Bow to me, peasants, and worship my awesomeness."

I am feeling the urge to be outside and get myself into some form of shape. I have decided that while round is definitely a shape, it's not the best one. This means I will have to force myself to exercise. Which I loathe with the white hot hatred of a million suns. The treadmill is the worst. POF can jump on there and knock out 4 miles like it's no big deal. I get on there to walk and it's like the freaking Bataan Death March. It lasts forever and it totally sucks big hairy balls. I loathe it. But I have got to be a better role model for my kid, so I am gonna try.

I say this, knowing that today after we got home from the park and our nice walk, we rewarded ourselves with a piece of cake and some ice cream. The pieces were small, and the ice cream was only a scoop, but still. Not exactly what needs to be happening. Then we lay like broccoli on the couch for an hour while the Minion slept, watching Madhouse. Again, not really the goal we are working toward. The whole healthy thing should be interesting - and a constant struggle.

The dogs are comatose on the couch. The park was too much for them. POF is sleepy, the Minion is up and wanting dinner, and I just really want to lay in the bed alone and read a book. I don't see that happening. Time to get dinner started and play with my kid. Gotta make sure he can read the directions to me when we get ready to travel/build/cook. That's what minions are for after all. I will start my own program: My Minion Can Read. I'm rich.