I’m pretty sure that we’ve established that my two children couldn’t be more dissimilar if I’d tried, haven’t we? Alex is an Eater, Ben is a Sleeper, and yet I’m still shocked when I find yet another difference.

Alex is currently holding strong as my cuddliest child (which is my polite way of saying needy), which vacillates from flattering the hell out of me and driving me bonkers. Most of the time, it’s incredibly endearing that when you walk past him, he strains his entire frame while protesting loudly, like “Hey, bitches, I’m down here. Pick my ass up!” When he’s plucked out of whatever gizmo he’d been happily occupying UNTIL YOU REMINDED HIM THAT HE HAS OTHER OPTIONS, he’ll burry his head in your neck and try to give your jaw a hickey. Pretty cute, right?

Until you are actually attempting to do something that does not involve lugging a 17 pound child around, like, for instance, brushing your hair. Or cooking on the hot stove. Then, it’s just a bit tedious.

My neighbors must think I’m a bit touched in the head (especially after they’ve all seen me walking around without my shirt. Sorry for any infertillity that may have caused, but the kid wouldn’t let go of the boobs for very long, and I would just kind of forget that the ladies were just hanging out there, because, well, THEY WERE ALWAYS OUT THERE.), because now, if you were to come by when I was trying to do something, ANYTHING, you’d likely find me crawling around on the floor, past the couches that block his view of me until I was completely out of his line of sight.

(whew, that was a long sentence. Can we say run-on, boys and girls? I know I can!)

It sounds excessive, I’m sure, but the thought had recently entered my head to blow up a full sized picture of myself, glue it onto a Becky-shaped cardboard cutout, and be done with it. Maybe I could even just past a picture of my head on the hulla girl.

Because somedays, somedays, I’d really like to get stuff done.