Don’t Call it a Comeback

Him: So you know how sometimes I go and book the flights for our vacations without telling you?

Me: *blank stare*

Him: And then you get really mad. And then you get excited. And then you figure out all the hotels and restaurants and things to see?

Me: We are not going on vacation. We can’t even organize a trip to the grocery store. Speaking of…your lunch options are pickles, oatmeal, or frozen peas. I suppose we could put that all together…

Him: Hon?

Me: Where you saying something?

Him: And you keep saying how you miss creating and how you end up spending what little free time you have trying to make it work…

Me: Don’t.

Him: So I ordered the tickets.

Me: Wait. That’s an analogy, right? Because seriously we can’t go on vacation. Your kid can’t go more than three hours without motor-boating me.

Him: This seemed like a better investment than a vacation.

Me: It better be cheaper than a vacation, too.

Him: You need a new computer.

Me: Don’t do it.

Him: I already ordered it.

Me: It’s too much. It’s too soon. It’s too frightening. I’m not ready.

Him: He’s 18 months. We’re going to start sleep training. We’ll find you some time.

Me: But I’m nervous.

Him: Get nervous. Because I’ve taken away your excuses.

It’s on, Interwebz. I’m back. OK, maybe not BACK back like imma-post-every-damn-day back, but back. Think more like imma-post-a-couple-times-a-month-and-do-some-ukeing back.

You know what?  Do call it a comeback. Fuck that noise. I’m saying this here, out loud, for accountability. I. Am. Back.

And as you can see by the flossy new look* around here, I’m bringing Herbert along for the ride.

*No seriously. The site looks amazing, right? All the props to Jennifer. Hire her. Then give her a little cuddle. Because that will totally score you a discount. Maybe. At the very least you’ll have banked a solid cuddle.


    1. You and me both…until I read that study on just how much you’d have to drink for it to affect a breastfeeding kid. Then I threw my own private MFBTs. Hard.

  1. Good on him. Your first post should be explaining what sleep training is to your childless heathen friends.

  2. SWEET!!! Welcome back, Elly! And, yes, I love the new look. If I were looking to upgrade, think my wife would prefer I paid full price, though. She’s kind of possessive when it comes to who I cuddle.

    1. Holy shit TWINS?!? I knew you were getting your surrogate on but TWINS?!? My uterus is sympathy weeping. Or I have my period. It could go either way.

  3. YES! I’ve missed you mucho. I mean, where else am I supposed to get my NPH news, if not from you? It has been a desert without you.

  4. FUCK. YEAH. I told you we’d be right here waiting for you.
    Rock that shit like you’re Richard Marx. He probably came back too, right? Betta than eva.
    \m/ \m/

  5. WOW — and you did this in AUGUST! I’m still laying in the sun with a bottle of chard rolling by my heels and you did THIS? Mind you, there are little feet running around me blathering about needing food and sugar, and—I KNOW, pretend-drunk-blogging is no longer “a thing” BUT. TOOTS my friend! or is it BALLS. Balls. yes. way better than toots. Or boobs. Inspired Boobs, none-the-less… BALLS! And let’s bring this full circle… What was my blog called?

    1. Wait. I have to stop pretend-drunk-blogging? Next you’ll be telling me to stop wearing my crocs. I shan’t hear it, I tell you. I shan’t!

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