Merrick is walking. He walks on carpet. He walks on tile. Without a helmet. When I’m least expecting it. He’s walking and he won’t stop. I’m afraid he’s going to kill himself or at the very least knock out his two front teeth. It’s cool. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want him to walk at all. But a 10-month-old does not have the balance and coordination of, say, a one-year old. I have mini-heart attacks all day long.
Mia’s a sassy little thing lately. It’s like she skipped ahead 8 years and everything I do or say sucks. It could be that she gets some of it from Cheyenne, but that doesn’t explain why she still thinks Caleb is the greatest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Some days I think I have the word LAME tattooed on my forehead.
I’m freaking out these days. I’m moody as hell and there’s no telling how I’ll feel from one minute to the next. I can’t finish the smallest tasks (probably because I’m either chasing after Merrick or comforting him after he’s already hurt himself.) I just can’t keep up with anything.
That said, I’m going to get my semi-weekly shower before Merrick wakes up.