I watched the Super Bowl at a co-worker’s house last night and what I really mean is I spooned their cute baby and ate snacks. Two very important Super Bowl party qualities given that I had no idea who was playing in the game until Sunday afternoon. And I really didn’t care.
Baby C is probably one of the cutest babies in the whole world and I say this with a whole lot of seriousness, as most of my cousins who have incredibly adorable children of their own read my blog. Guys, look at that face.
Baby C and I have spent have spent some quality time together since he came into the world– including one Friday afternoon I had skipped out of the office to sit on the couch with him and watch Soaps. I had his mother’s sweatpants pulled on under my work dress, Baby C had my work dress in his mouth, 90210 was on. Life was good.
I offered to put him to bed last night and he was 100% not pleased about this development. Not only was there a super fun party going on downstairs, I was not his mother. We managed to get the PJs on and the bottle finished without much fussing but then I stuck him in his crib and OH HELL NO, WOMAN. He started to wail bloody murder. Like the kind of crying that makes people think you stole the baby if you happen to be in public.
I heard my name being called from the downstairs during my weak attempts to rub his back and could only assume they thought I was torturing the small child, but no– I had correctly guessed the first beverage commercial of the Super Bowl and won a bottle of Hennessy. Hennessy in one hand, baby in the other. That’s how we do.