When I moved into my house I allowed my black thumb to purchase three supposedly “unkillable” houseplants.
I figured if I could keep them alive for a year I’d allow myself to purchase more, maybe even grow a flower outside.
My houseplants successfully survived more than an entire year.
Then I brought home a baby.
I am pleased to report that the baby is still very much alive and well.
Not so much.
The entire last month has gone by in a blur of boobs, bottles, sweatpants, full arms and a full heart.
My parents visited last week and the aptly named Gramma Flower helped Addie plant my four big concrete planters. While we were at the nursery she used terms like “vinca” and “coleus.” All I heard was “blah blah blah you’ll feel really guilty if you kill all these beautiful flowers.”
So I am now attempting to keep five living things fed, watered and safe from the hungry jaws of fluffy widdle bunnies. (So maybe I only have to keep the flowers safe from the impending doom of the rabbits…but I read Bunnicula, those creatures are not to be trusted.)
Vivi is a kitty napper. Due to sheer force of will the child is unable to snooze for longer than 15 minutes at a time unless it is either A) right before bedtime or B) bedtime. Which isn’t horrible. But it sure does leave me feeling wholly unproductive at the end of the day. (Just ask the houseplants. Oh wait, you can’t. They’re very dead.)
She has started to smile (unless by the same sheer force of will she has very well timed gas) and I am pleased to report that she will officially cost her dad a lot more money and grief than previously planned with her giant gummy grin and full head of deliciously furry baby hair.
As if there was any other option.