I've canceled my last two hair appointments. One got the axe at the last minute, which is never something to be proud of. So today, even when I didn't have a sitter, I had to go. I wore the skinny jeans of post-pregnancy fame.
Because I wore the jeans that Nathan had previously peed on and spit up on several times, he felt the need to one-up himself. He gets that from me.
So he pooped on my jeans and my shirt when I was trying to keep him quiet. In the middle of my haircut. He does not get that from me.
There I sat for the last half of my haircut, smelly and a bit uncomfortable with the whole "baby poop on my clothes" issue while Nathan (returned to his carseat for reasons that rival radioactive waste leakage) screamed. He eventually fell asleep, sucking his thumb and sitting in his own mess while I tried not to think about it.
Every so often my hairdresser would fake a smile and laugh as if to say, "I'm having my tubes tied. Tomorrow."
Nathan Butterfield. The best thing that ever happened to birth control.