What a difference a month makes

Officially, summer started on June 21st, and as I look back over my summer to this point, I would have to rethink what might have been some VERY safe bets at that time…

• If you’d told me that there would be a third person in my house with my last name, I would have laughed at you and taken that bet.
• If you’d suggested to me that by August 15th, that someone would have pissed, vomited, drooled, or inadvertently gotten baby shit on me and I didn’t beat them viciously; then I might beat YOU viciously.
• If you’d suggested that I would actually ACT on one of the cars I randomly looked at on Craigslist all the time, I would have asked you where the money was coming from. Furthermore, only a small number of those reading this could have ever guessed what it MIGHT have been.
• What you might have bet on is that, as a known road-rager, I am nigh impossible to take out of a mood with anything other than time. If I would have told YOU that half a grin from that short person named in #1 is usually enough to make me forget what I was talking about, you’d look at me like an alien.

You both know the story about how we came to this position, if not, read it here.
Needless to say, today marks the close of the second fastest month of my life, second only to the one before it, in which the scramble to be in this took place. One month ago today, we brought in my new favorite thing/person on the planet. Anyone/thing else should be honored to have been knocked down a rung. Those allowed to be connected to me on FaceBook have seen the pictures as they unfold, shot in and around the house and city by myself, her mother, my mother/sisters and one photographer.
They say “time flies when you’re having fun,” and I will not say that the ride has not been a blast (except for the shitty diaper thing), but that person apparently never experienced the “… when every move you make or don’t make can be critical” that comes with the care for an infant.

Ava is well, she does just fine on the day-to-day and generally can melt anyone with a smile.

… and she smells like a baby.

… and she is absolutely my child:

• amused by her own gas
• sleeps through EVERYTHING (catastrophic thunderstorms, dogs barking, me talking loud, television noise, etc…)
• (I know one might not be so inclined to think this about an infant, but…) I swear this child is as stubborn and spiteful as I am.
• Loves the sound of music – Katie calms her for baths/changing by singing or playing music.

I am coming to grips with the situation being that people will not ask about me before asking about her, if they ever ask about me at all. Being a middle child prepared me for that. I am guessing that one day I will learn to NOT say “get your filthy fucking hands away from my child or I will kill you and everything in your ZIP code,” even if I WILL continue to think it every time I hear the inevitable “awww, it’s a BAY-BEE!!!” tardgasm that everyone seems to have whenever there is anyone younger than two years enters their line of sight.
I have been practicing as best I can the art of no-selling people asking me EVERY day “got any new pictures?” as if it isn’t the same damned child from the previous day. I will not say it isn’t difficult, I am beginning to question the sanity of an individual who would want to see the same child in redundant situations time and time and time again. I manage to back out of it by imagining the person is/will be a “crazy cat lady,” and removing myself from the situation with something to make them uncomfortable.

Here we are, one month into the craziest trip of our lives, with 215 months remaining between now and 18 (not that I am counting, or anything).
I am always open to donations for alcohol and a pistol at any time.